heavy mitted love
by wellthatdepends
Summary: heads she is taken, tails she is not (here's both). [canon divergence post "Alone"]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **I haven't attempted a multi-chapter story in _many _years. But there's something about this pairing that motivates and inspires. A five-part story told in two timelines - one where Beth is taken, one where she is not. Written before the season 5 trailer, so consider this canon-divergent post "Alone". Title taken from "Beth / Rest" by Bon Iver, which was, by pure coincidence, a perfect fit.

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**.**

**.**

**1.**

He tells her to run and she does, but not without protest, not without a steady declaration.

_I ain't leaving without you!_

And she knows her words hit him where she intended; heartfelt and true and when her mind jolts between running for her life and the events of several minutes ago, time enveloped by a heavy silence that will be their defining moment, she is so overwhelmed by _feelings_.

Feelings and _him_.

This pull, this realignment of her centre of gravity; she is well and truly caught off guard. It's those moments, she thinks, that cause people to act out of passion. It's those moments, so significant and _honest_, that people spend their whole lives searching for.

And he could _die_. He could die and he'd never know.

Beth follows his directions, trusts him more than she trusts himself. On the road, she waits anxiously, tugs at her sweater and hopes, _prays_ for him to return to her safely.

She doesn't notice the car until it's too late.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**i.**

She twists the strap of her backpack nervously with one hand, clasps her knife ever so tightly in the other.

Beth can feel her heart pounding in her chest and every little noise, every rustle of the wind causes her to nearly jump out of her skin.

Watching him from the tree line, she hopes he won't be too mad that she didn't wait by the road. There's a feeling deep in her stomach that is shooting off warning signs and she feels herself drifting further and further into the shadows, shrinking into the underbrush.

Maggie was a firm believer in trusting your instincts. Drilled it into her, even before the turn.

And when the car pulls up, idling maybe 50 feet from where she is hiding, time seems to stop.

_You see anyone?_

_Nah. The walkers get them maybe?_

_Goddamnit! We were supposed to bring back another girl! Boss ain't gonna be too happy with just the one!_

_She's young, she'll attract bidders. And besides, there's always more…_

Beth stops listening. Stops breathing. Starts thinking in terms of ifs and maybes and were she just 50 feet away, at the edge of the road, like Daryl had told her, she would be in that car.

She would be gone.

The thought, the adrenaline, the _fear,_ makes her throw up.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**2.**

Her head pounding, she awakes to light.

She has no semblance of time. She could have been out of it for hours. Days even.

Pushing the panic down, she takes a few deep breaths. Counts her certainties:

she is in a car

there are two captors

she still has Daryl's knife

She nearly cries with joy, this small victory, this small hope. But the pounding won't stop and, without warning, her captors pull over to the shoulder of the road, jolting her forward.

"Awake, I see," one notes casually, eyeing her up and down.

"Prettier in the moonlight," the other sneers, "didn't look as skinny either."

"Madam will clean her up," the driver shrugs, "don't worry. We'll still get a good cut, especially with the other one."

"If I don't kill her first," the other man groans, throwing open his door.

"What are you doing?"

"Kid's gonna hurt herself. Can't have fucked up merchandise."

He pops the boot, pulling a crying girl and source of the pounding noise out and throwing her in the backseat. The girl curls up into herself, her brown hair hiding her face.

"Keep her quiet!" the man snaps at Beth, getting in her face. Knife in hand, she slashes at him widely, feeling blood hit her face.

It's not enough though.

And everything is once again black.

**.**

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**.**

**ii.**

"Daryl!" she yells when he stumbles into view. The car peels off and he makes a move to dash after it, halting at the sound of her voice.

Running forward, she hurls herself into his arms, tightening her grip around his waist, shaking with silent sobs.

It's when his bow drops to his side, his arms encircling her tight that she allows herself to feel relief.

That they've survived, that they're alive, that they're together.

And that's all she needs.

"I saw the car, I thought…" he mumbles into her hair and she pulls back, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

"I was hiding, I don't know why, I just had this feeling…" Beth looks into his eyes, so dark and focused "…it was a trap. They were going to take me-"

He kisses her hard, quick, stealing the words from her mouth and thoughts from her brain. Grasping his vest, she meets his bruising pressure with a force of her own. His hands grip her hips tightly; she knows they'll be marks in the morning, and that knowledge sends a thrill down her spine.

"No one's taking you anywhere, ya hear?" he says gruffly, holding her firmly in place, her eyes wide.

"I'll kill anyone that tries to hurt you."

**.**

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**3.**

This time round, she wakes to sobbing.

The room is dim, but she can make out delicate furnishings and rich tapestries. She's lying on an _actual_ bed; her first since the farm and the mattress feels like heaven.

It's almost enough to forget her splitting headache and the young girl crying in the corner.

But not enough.

The girl is just that; _a girl_. Beth deduces that she can't be much younger than Carl. There's a softness to her features that are just starting to sharpen, curves that are just appearing. She is a mess of brown hair and torn clothes, but beneath the dirt and grime and the glasses there is no mistaking that she is a beautiful girl.

Young _woman_.

(_Fuck_.)

"Hey," Beth murmurs, struggling to find her voice. Clearing her throat she repeats herself, louder and stronger, "Hey."

The girl glances up at her tearfully.

"How long have I been out?" Beth asks, standing up slowly. The girl eyes her warily.

"A few hours," she sniffles. Beth sighs, rubbing her head.

She's hit with a bolt of realisation, which quickly fades when her hand goes to her hip and she finds her knife gone.

"They were going to kill you," she says softly, "but then they found out you were a virgin, and you're worth more alive than dead."

Beth feels the bile rising up her throat.

"How did they find out?"

But it's easy to put two and two together, when the button of her jeans isn't done up and her underwear feels askew.

"They stuck something in you," the girl whispers.

Beth swallows.

"They touch you too?"

The girl shakes her head.

"I'm only fourteen. Guess they didn't have a reason not to believe me."

Her heart breaks a little in that moment, not for herself, she's can't allow that. But this girl, she doesn't deserve this. Doesn't deserve any of this.

"What's your name?" Beth asks, her resolve building, her protective instincts kicking in.

"Annie," the girl replies, pushing her hair behind her glasses, "Annette."

She goes numb.

**.**

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**iii.**

"You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

It's been two hours since they saw the signs, give or take. She had paused, taking in the small proof that her sister was alive, before moving on.

They both didn't miss the fact that the signs bore no mention of her.

"I mean, would she really be wrong for making that assumption?" Beth kicks at rocks, "And maybe it's _easier_ for her to think that I'm dead. Less to worry about."

"Still don't make it right," Daryl mutters, shifting his crossbow to his other arm, "you're tougher than she thinks."

"Thanks to you," she shrugs, "I'd probably be dead or worse if it weren't for you, Daryl Dixon."

He's silent and she respects the fact that he didn't try and convince her otherwise.

"So Terminus," Beth states, kicking a stone across the track, "we don't have to-"

"We're going." Daryl leaves no room for argument.

"It might be dangerous?"

"Probably," he shrugs, "what isn't these days? It's your sister, Greene. It's what we do for family."

_We_. _Family_.

The words fill her with warmth.

**.**

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**4.**

The small window in the corner provides them their ticket to the outside world. It's too high to make an escape, too small, even for Annie.

They get two meals a day. No one touches them, just brings them food and leaves. There's a basin of water, floral soaps, and hair brushes. Clean underwear and dresses, but Beth is quick to knock them out of the other girl's hands, instructing her to keep her ripped jeans and stained t-shirts. The young girl might not understand the clothing choice, but Beth sees them for what they are.

Window dressing. Plain and simple.

She thinks this place used to be a fairground, abandoned even before the turn. A fence runs the perimeter, manned day and night by gunmen. There are tents and trailers and people come and go as they please.

Not women, though. Never women.

It's a trading ground, from what she can tell. Food and medicine and weapons are in high demand, based on the spruikers lining the corners. Gasoline and car parts follow a close second, but she figures that people are still getting by on siphoning the stuff.

It won't be long before that option runs out.

She doesn't pretend she doesn't know what this place is. Doesn't pretend that the moans and groans and cries don't haunt her sleepless nights.

When she does sleep, she dreams of her daddy and Maggie and Judith and _him_.

Always him.

**.**

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**.**

**iv.**

"Do _you_ wanna talk about it?"

She spares him a quick glance, trying not to look too hopeful, too young. Though, she feels it in her bones, the trivialness of the conversation she's attempting to start. Flashbacks to high school, to her friends pressuring her to 'define the relationship' with Jimmy hit her hard and she suddenly feels every bit her eighteen years.

(But there was a look that went unanswered, her whispered _oh_ and his eyes so dark and intense, boring into hers.)

He grunts, picks up the pace slightly and she has to job to catch up with him.

"Not now, okay," she concedes, "but soon. Before Terminus."

"Nothing to talk about."

She sighs, dropping it because, yeah, it's stupid. It's childish and she's being childish.

"Look," he stops, grabbing her to face him, "it was a reaction. The kiss. It was a reaction. I reacted."

"Okay," she says softly.

"Don't mean I'm you _boyfriend_ or anything," he says gruffly.

"It's okay," Beth says quietly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Jesus, woman," he sighs, "you brought it up."

"I can change my mind," her voice contains a hint of a smile, "it's my prerogative and all."

"Yeah, you do what you want to do," he nudges her lightly, resuming their walk, a smirk playing on his face.

"Always do."

**.**

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**5.**

Around day five, Annie stops crying.

Beth stops trying to console her after day three.

She figures the girl needs time to process everything. Her father's sudden and gory death, her abduction, her fate.

Hell, she remembers her own emotional breakdown, and her life, compared to now, was something of a cakewalk.

(She had the farm, she had her sister, she had her _father_.)

Beth doesn't talk much, so the silence is filled with the younger girl's sobs and whimpers. She fills her time with silent contemplation, watching the world outside her window, memorising guard rotations, counting the number of men with weapons.

Counting the number of paces from the building to the gate.

She does sit ups and push-ups. Tries to make herself look as menacing, as fierce, and as wild as possible when their captors come by with food and water. Tries to look as bored as possible, to school her features into an expression that screams _if this is all you've got then this is nothing_.

It's day five, when she wakes to silence.

"Annie?" she says groggily, almost afraid that she'll look around and the girl will be gone. But she's there, staring out the window, counting under her breath.

"Only five men guard the fences at night," she whispers, "the fat one with the coonskin cap falls asleep around 3am. They don't bother to wake him unless there's walkers."

"What else?" Beth says, cautiously.

"The north east corner is the least patrolled, because of the brick wall."

"Good," Beth smiles slightly, "real good."

"I know what you've been doing," Annie says softly, "I'm sorry I've been such a baby."

"You're grieving, you're allowed to be sad." Beth tells her kindly.

"You don't," Annie fiddles with her torn jumper, "I wish I was more like you."

If someone had told Beth six months ago that she would be viewed as someone strong and in control, she would have laughed nervously, and assumed they were referring to her skills with Judith. But this girl, not much younger than she was when the world turned, is looking at her like she's Maggie or Michonne or someone capable enough to tackle the dangers of this new world head on.

Someone who _survives_.

"You want to be like me?" Beth asks, voice barely above a whisper. The girl nods, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. She walks over to the window, placing her hands on her face.

"We don't get to be upset," Beth wipes away the girl's unshod tears. Sparing a glance at the window, then the door, she swallows thickly.

"We all have our jobs to do."

**.**

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**.**

**v.**

She puts a bolt in the legless walker and tries not to look affected.

_Tries_.

It still gets to her, that these things used to be people and she wonders what kind of man he was, what kind of man he _wanted _to be. Was he alone? Was he searching for his family, just like they were?

They're haunting her, she thinks. Every walker she puts down, with his bow or her knife. Their ghosts follow her, ominous and chilling, screaming at her to _remember them._

Remember them as what they _were_, not what they _became_.

Daryl rifles through the bags nearby; food, weapons, medicine – in that order. She looks through a small duffle, finding a clean enough sweater and a purple beanie.

And a ukulele.

Huh.

She strums it softly, picking out the chords for_ Imagine_ and when he catches her eye, she half expects him to scold her for making too much noise. Instead, he stops rummaging, leans against the hood of a burnt out car and lights up a cigarette.

"Don't you know any songs made _after_ you were born, girl?"

She giggles, fingers pausing their ministrations.

"Don't you know I'm an old soul?"

He simply raises an eyebrow, exhaling slowly. Her fingers pick at another tune, lyrics she'd thought she had once forgotten slipping from her lips.

"_Come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are…_"

He let's her sing her song. She doesn't read into the lyrics, doesn't read into his actions, simply appreciates this small pleasure that he lets her have.

And when her song ends, and it's time for them to move on, she slings the small instrument over her backpack and he lets her have that too.

**.**

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**.**

**6.**

They take her from the room first.

It's day seven.

She marches down the halls, a scowl on her face, still clad in her ripped jeans and stained sweater. She's rejected the dresses, rejected the delicate shoes. Rejected the hairbrush and the make up and the other girls peer curiously at her from their doorways, each painted up for show.

"Wait here," her captor mutters gruffly, pushing her into yet another well furnished room. It more resembles a sitting room, with several plush sofas and a stocked bar. Jazz plays from an old record player and she feels the urge to get up and smash it to pieces.

"Don't."

Whirling around, an elegantly dresses woman slips through the door. She is satin and red lipstick and like something from the old movies her daddy used to watch, but Beth's eyes are immediately drawn to the gun in her hand.

"Don't what?"

"Don't think about destroying my belongings. It won't help your situation."

"And what is my situation?" Beth asks, standing her ground.

The woman moves to pour herself a drink.

"You will be sold to the highest bidder."

Beth swallows her disgust.

"That's human trafficking."

"That, _chica_, is a trade older than the pyramids." The woman scoffs, pouring a second drink and passing it to Beth.

"And Annie?"

"Her too," the woman takes a dainty sip, "but they'll be a strict screening process. Things are not quite that dire and we are not complete monsters."

"You are monsters though," Beth spits, throwing back her drink, savouring the burn, "She's only fourteen!"

"Your problem is you're still living in your Disney Channel, Taylor Swift, Twilight world," the woman sneers, "waiting for whatever your version of Prince Charming may be to show up. Holding onto your virginity like it's something sacred. How long before you would have let your archer friend fuck you?"

"Shut up," Beth snaps, "you don't know anything about me."

"We're not different," she rolls her eyes, "just because you never fucked the man for his protection, doesn't mean you don't have your own unique…_charms_. You'll use them on the next man. And the one after that. And you'll stay alive."

"I can look after myself," Beth whispers.

"Maybe," the woman shrugs, "but can she?"

Beth's silence is answer enough.

"Keep in line, kid. Consider this your first and last warning. Play the game like a good little girl. And remember, screening processes aren't 100%. Lot of wolves in sheep's clothing these days."

"Lot of wolves, period," Beth notes bitterly and woman merely laughs.

**.**

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**vi.**

When she sees Carl's hat, through the tree line, it takes Daryl's arm across her chest to stop her from bolting.

Even in these moments of elation and joy he is cautious. Looking for the trap, the catch. The snare that will bring them down.

He must decide that it's okay, when he moves his arm away and she takes off, her ponytail bouncing and Carl's name on her lips.

She crashes into the younger boy, falls to the ground, a tangle of limbs and tears and smiles.

This is her family and they are alive.

Through her tears, she spots Rick and Michonne and when she throws her arms around the older woman, Rick embraces Daryl and her heart feels oh so _full_.

"Oh sweetheart," Rick whispers into her hair, when she extracts herself from Michonne throws herself into his arms, "I am so sorry."

Her dad. She flinches, forgetting for a moment that her father is dead and her sister is missing and it hits her: Judith, sweet baby Judith, is nowhere to be seen.

"Me too, Rick," she says softly, "me too."

She doesn't miss the look in their eyes, the flash of hearts breaking once more. That any hope they had is quickly dashed by her empty hands. And she feels, once again, the crippling guilt and sadness that too often threatens to drown her, to extinguish her own hope.

It's Daryl's hand, hesitantly entwined in hers, that serves as an anchor, reminding her that she is whole.

.

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Chapter song:

"The Scientist" by Coldplay


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thank you kindly to those who followed/reviewed/favourited/read this. There will be five chapters total.

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**.**

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**7.**

The woman, who Beth learns is simply referred to as _Madam_, hands her a razor and a bar of soap.

"Legs and pits," she snaps, "whoever buys you can decide the rest."

Beth's become an expert at training her features into a neutral expression around the woman. Under her ever watchful eye, Beth wears the dresses and eats the food. Even brushes her hair. Because in their room sits Annie, looking like a living porcelain doll who could be so easily broken.

The Madam trims her hair, taking an inch off the length, humming as she cuts.

"I was a whore before the turn, you know?"

Beth snorts.

"Hey," the Madam taps her ear with the scissors, "these are sharp, girl. Watch your tone."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I like you," she shrugs, "you're not weak like most of these girls."

"They're _scared_," Beth glares at her.

"Same thing. I wasn't scared though," she continues to snip away, "I used to dance five nights a week at a place called the Candy Shop, taking clients on the side. I met Rowhan when this place was just a trading ground for food and weapons. I was the one who suggested the whores."

Beth has never met the mysterious _Rowhan_, isn't even sure he exists. But from the way the girls whisper and the men yell his name, he's as handsome as he is feared and while he is shacked up with the Madam, his main priority is his five-year-old son.

"I don't care about your life story," Beth feels her resolve breaking, her anger seeping out. The Madam throws down the scissor with a scowl.

"Fine. Be petulant. I just hope for your sake Gareth likes that trait in women."

"Gareth?" Beth's eyes widen and the Madam smirks.

"Yeah, we found a buyer. Only thing is, he likes brunettes,"

She holds a bottle of hair dye out, "easy fix, though."

"You're selling him a lie," Beth snaps angrily.

"We're selling him a _fantasy_," the Madam bites back, "how well you play it will determine how well you survive."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**vi.**

"Today's the day of reckoning!"

Beth jolts awake, hand drifting to her knife. Beside her, Carl peers out the windscreen and the sight fills her with fear.

Several men surround Rick and Michonne, guns raised, one with his weapon pressed to Rick's temple. He's yelling about retribution, about revenge, counting down from ten like it's their own personal doomsday clock.

The blood pounds in her brain. Time seems to slow.

Daryl appears at eight, bow raised, offering himself as some kind of sacrifice and she wants to scream, wants to cry. Wants to scream at him because he's not allowed to leave her. He's not allowed to die.

All hell breaks loose when Daryl goes down, under the fists and feet of three men. She finds herself being dragged from the truck, along with Carl, and Daryl's pained shout echoes throughout.

"If you touch her, I'll kill you!"

"We're going to beat this guy to death," the ringleader tells Rick, gun pressing in harder, "then we'll have the women, and the boy. Then we'll kill you."

Beth struggles against her captor who pushes her to the ground, straddling her, trying to pin her arms.

"She's a feisty one, bowman!" he chuckles with glee, "I bet she's a screamer. She a screamer, bowman?"

She tries to buck him off, but he slaps her across the face.

"If you're a good little bitch, maybe I'll make this less painful for you."

But Beth didn't get taken by that car and she's not about to be taken by this man. She brings her knee up and spits in his face, inciting another slap, one that leaves her reeling. He rips her shirt in half, palming her breasts roughly, before moving downwards. She shrieks, reaching for the knife just out of reach.

A gunshot rings out, but all she can focus on is the knife, a fingertips length away. She tunes out the screaming, the fighting, the crying and when her hand grasps the knife blade first, she ignores the shooting pain from the shallow cut and blindly stabs at her attacker. He yells out, pulling his own weapon, but she stabs again, this time with more precision.

She doesn't think she'll ever forget the contrast between sinking her knife in a walker skull and a living human one.

She doesn't think she'll ever forget the feeling of warm blood running down her arm.

She doesn't think she'll ever forget Rick, his face covered in blood, these men looking at him with pure fear etched across their features. Or how quickly Daryl and Michonne put them down, until it's just Carl's attacker, slowly stepping away.

The adrenaline keeps her standing, but it doesn't stop her sobs, so loud and so painful that she can't breath. Daryl pulls her to him, tucking her into his jacket so she's buried in his chest and once again he's keeping her afloat, keeping her from drowning.

"You don't need to watch this," he mutters grimly, and with her eyes squeezed shut, she hears the sound of flesh being ripped open, and metal hitting muscle and bone and blood.

But louder than that, she hears his heart and how it beats in time with her own.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**8.**

Annie drops to the ground, panting.

"I miss gym class," she groans, "never thought I would. Always would fake an illness or forge a note from my daddy. I never thought I would be one day wishing I had of taken part in those self-defence classes instead of sitting in the nurses office."

Beth chuckles.

"And the rope?" the younger girls exclaims, "Never thought that would come in handy in the middle of the night, trying to climb a tree to escape a herd."

"A lot of outdated skills come in handy now," Beth confirms, nudging at the girl, "the world has changed and we are still adapting."

"What was your life like before the turn?" Annie asks curiously, sipping from a nearby water bottle.

"Easy," Beth shrugs, "good. I was lucky. Even after the turn, I was lucky."

"You have a good daddy?"

Beth smiles sadly.

"The best. He was a great man."

"You miss him?"

It's a simple question, an easy question, one Beth's thought about and answered in her head a million times over. Of course she misses her daddy, of course she wishes he were alive. But to admit so in front of the girl would feel like weakness. Weakness she has no room for, weakness she needs to push aside. She can't afford to focus on the past or the people she misses so much is hurts sometimes.

She needs to focus on getting the hell out of here.

"Miss a lot of things," Beth shrugs, trying to lighten the situation, "I miss chocolate covered pretzels and Nancy Drew novels and dancing."

"I miss rainbows," Annie sighs sadly.

"Hey," Beth grabs her hand, "you can still see them. Just gotta rain first."

"Yeah," Annie agrees, "Just gotta rain."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**viii.**

Her blood runs cold when she sees her daddy's watch.

Correction: _Glenn's _watch.

It's not enough that only hours ago she was nearly raped. It's not enough that only hours ago Rick ripped another man's throat out with his teeth. It's not enough that only hours ago the universe dealt them another blow that almost brought them to their knees.

And now this.

Rick's got his gun to the guys head, the others, their weapons drawn. She stands still, stands strong, her own gun drawn and while she's certain she doesn't look deadly, purple beanie and ukulele on her back, she still poses a threat.

"What about the riot gear?" Rick growls, "The poncho?"

"Got the riot gear of a dead cop," the man called Gareth explains, hands held out in front of him, "the poncho off a clothes line."

Daryl's inching towards her, unconsciously trying to shield her and her eyes dart from Gareth to the other.

"Rick, what do you want?" Gareth asks, voice calm, even.

"Where are our people?" Rick asks, gun poised to shoot.

"You didn't answer my question."

Then, all hell breaks loose.

The gunfire is deafening, more so than the prison, where she had a chain link fence separating her from the others. Daryl is quick to shove her behind him, away from the bullets raining down on them, pushing her in the other direction. Running through the streets of Terminus, it almost feels as though they are being herded somewhere, but she shakes off the feeling, and focuses on staying alive, not getting shot.

Bursting through a door, they find themselves in a makeshift alter room, candles covering every available surface, names written on the ground. Her hand tightens on her gun and Daryl's pushing her through another door, where they're met by more gunfire.

And a trap.

"Drop your weapons!" Gareth yells. Daryl grabs her arm, keeping her close. "Now!"

She places her gun on the ground slowly, Daryl's knife even slower. Beside her, Michonne lowers her katana and Daryl all but throws his crossbow on the ground.

"Ringleader, go to your left, the train car, go!"

Rick hesitates, and Beth stares at Carl.

"You do what we say, the boy goes with you. Anything else, he dies and you end up in there anyway."

there's a slight nod from Carl and Rick makes his way towards the train car.

"Now the archer!"

"Not without the girl!" Daryl growls and Gareth all but smiles.

"Don't worry, archer, she's not my type. Go, girl. Better not keep your lover waiting."

Sparing a nervous glance at Michonne and Carl, Beth makes her way towards the train car, towards Daryl.

Towards her fate.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**9.**

Beth was never a ribbons and curls type of girl.

Hard to believe, isn't it?

Her hair is a chocolate brown, fat curls held together by a pale pink bow. Her pink dress is a smidge too tight around the bust and too short at the hemline. Her cheeks are pink and her lips are pink and when she looks in the mirror, she looks like some kind of Lolita come to life.

She looks like a terribly _fantasy_.

Little Annie doesn't look much better, but her dress is more modest, her face less done up. It should make her feel better, but it doesn't.

If the bidders want a child bride, they've got one. There's no need to dress her up when it's perfectly obvious.

The other women stand at their doorways when the pair are ushered from their room through the building. There's identical looks of pity and sadness and Beth wonders what it must mean when the women who suffer day in and day out are cursing _their _fate.

The Madam looks pleased. Says she's found a few bidders, that Annie will fetch a good price.

"Smile!" she hisses to Beth, just out of the younger girl's earshot, "And maybe your future husband will deem your face pretty enough not to cut it up."

"Fuck you!" Beth snaps and Annie turns around, eyes narrowed, questioning.

"Listen here, kid," the Madam snarls, pushing Beth against a wall, "listen up, all of you!"

The women watching pause, the Madam drawing their full attention.

"You all act like I'm the villain here, but guess what? I saved you!" her voice grows louder, more hysterical, "And I'm tired of pious virgins like this one giving me attitude. I'm the one keeping you clothed and fed! I'm the one that controls the clientele! I'm the one who makes sure you aren't raped in the middle of the night. You want to take your chances out there, alone? Be my guest! No running water out there. No hot meals. Just the dead and men who deserve to die."

The Madam glares at them, and the women shrink back.

"Anyone still want out?"

"We do." Beth replies and the Madam barks a laugh.

"Oh sweetheart. Like _you_ even get a choice."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**ix.**

Maggie embraces her and Beth forgets how to breath.

Really, she can't breath. And when she almost passes out, Daryl is hovering over her, yelling at the others to _back the fuck up_.

It's like the last twenty-four hours have suddenly caught up to her, the adrenaline wearing off and all she's left with is the overwhelming realisation that she nearly died _twice_.

Two close calls too many.

"Daryl?" she calls out weakly.

"Hey Greene," he mutters, crouching, grabbing her hand, "you alright?"

"Yeah," she sits up, thankful for the dim light hiding how red with embarrassment she is, "I was just overwhelmed."

"Oh Bethy," Maggie throws herself forward, her hug more gentle. Beth's ready this time, and fists her hands in her sister's sweater, holding her tight.

"I'm so glad you're alive," she breathes, willing herself not to cry, "when I saw your signs, I was so glad."

Maggie doesn't reply, just holds her tighter, fingers moving from her hair to her face, as if she isn't real, as if she'll disappear.

(Sometimes, Beth thinks she might.)

"And Glenn," Beth pushes herself free from her sister, launching herself at her brother in law, "he had your watch, I thought…"

"Hey," Glenn murmurs, stroking her hair, "don't think. It's okay."

Beth smiles weakly, gratefully. She embraces Bob, then Sasha, who she holds onto longer than Maggie, because there was a time when her older sibling was missing and that weight was too great to bear.

The newcomers eye her curiously, eye them _all_ curiously. And maybe Beth's more hesitant to trust, maybe she's more wary. But they saved Glenn. And they reunited him with Maggie.

And that's all she really needs.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**10.**

"I'm sorry your man didn't find you in time."

Beth sits at the bar. There's not much to do now, not when she's been 'sold', not when in the morning, two men are going to escort her to her new home. Some place called 'Terminus'.

Sounds _terrible_.

"Excuse me?" Beth's snapped out of her self-pity by a foreign voice. Next to her, a man reaches over the bar to snatch a glass and a bottle of whiskey.

"Drink, love?"

"Got any moonshine?" Beth replies, defiantly.

The man laughs, standing to walk around and rummage behind the bar.

"You're in luck, love. Someone traded a whole cartful for painkillers this morning. Never known why you yanks love this swill so much. There's no substitute for quality."

"What did you mean, you're 'sorry'?" Beth asks bluntly.

"Your man?" he raises his eyebrow, "Maria said you had a man?"

"Maria?"

"Oh!" he looks genuinely surprised, "You all call her Madam, right? Well, sometimes you young ones have a fella and he finds you and it's very dramatic and romantic and the like. Heart-warming even."

With a petulant shrug, Beth takes a tentative sip of her drink, savouring the familiar burn. The man beside her sips at his drink.

"Guess he couldn't find you."

"He's out there," Beth snaps, glaring daggers at him, wishing yet again for her own, "and he'll burn this place to the ground to find me. _Maria_ will be dead. The men who took me will be dead. And your 'great and powerful leader', well, once _my man_ gets the information he needs, he'll be dead as well."

Slowly, the man pours himself another drink.

"Well, that will be an interesting day, won't it love?" his tone is not teasing, but solemn, contemplative, "always good to know how one will die. Never liked surprises much."

If Beth had her knife she would kill him.

She'd kill them all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**x.**

In the rail container, there's nothing to do but _think_.

Thinks about places; the farm, her room at the prison, the kitchen at the funeral home. Thinks about things; broken mirrors, her diary, and the piano. Thinks about people; her mama, her daddy. Judith.

Always Judith. Every waking moment of the day, Judith.

It's easy to get lost in the hope and despair alike, easy to imagine the best case scenarios alongside the worst. Easy to curl up inside her thoughts and stare too long at her wrist. She doesn't regret choosing to live, not for one second, but the reminder is heavy.

_You don't get to choose the easy way out. We all have jobs to do._

But, without Judith, what job does she have?

And so the cycle begins again; she reassures herself only to break herself down. Her thumb presses too hard on the raised white flesh of her wrist and she's grateful for the dim light, grateful for the corner she's found herself curled up in.

His hand on hers makes her jump.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't dare alert anyone to his presence beside her. He just takes her scarred wrist in his hand, traces over the skin reverently. He doesn't ask if she's okay because he knows she _will be_.

She thinks she loves that most of all. He doesn't treat her like she's breakable or broken.

He treats her like she's fixed herself and can fix him too.

(She can try.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**11.**

She wakes to gunfire.

This is nothing new.

It's close, though, that's the surprise. She hears screaming in the halls, hears glass breaking and heavy footsteps. She hears the Madam, shouting in Spanish, words punctuated by gunshots.

"Get up!" Beth hisses to Annie, shucking off her dress, throwing on jeans and a t-shirt. "Get dressed – properly!"

The younger girl follows suit, hastily pulling on boots and shrugging on a jacket. Beth pulls her hair into a messy ponytail, grabs a heavy candlestick and tentatively opens the door.

Outside, it's chaos. Women are crying, patrons ducking for cover.

"Madam's gone crazy!" one of the girls in the room next to them yells out, "Found out her old man had been cheating on her, was planning on leaving her."

One of the patrons ducks behind a nearby pillar, as bullet ricochets off the wall.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!"

Annie freezes, wide-eyed and fearful, looking to Beth for guidance.

And guide the young girl she would.

"We're getting out of here," she grabs the girl by the shoulders, "we're going to grab what we can, and we're going to get out of here.

"The Madam keeps weapons in her sitting room," Annie interjects, already heading down the hall, "we can grab them-"

The young girl screams as a man grabs her wrist.

"Come on, girlie, lets have some fun!"

No time for hesitation, Beth decks him with the candlestick and he's knocked out cold.

"Annie, it's okay," Beth reassures the shaking girl, "we get some weapons, food, and we run."

Downstairs, she hears the telltale groan of walkers. The Madam continues to scream, continues to shoot.

That's the thing about delicate power balances. One sudden shift and the whole kingdom can come tumbling down.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xi.**

"Rick has a plan."

Maggie nudges her awake. It's not an easy sleep, never is these days, but Daryl often settles down beside her and even awake, it calms her.

"What?" Beth mumbles, pulling herself into a sitting position.

"Rick, well, Rick, Glenn, Abraham, and Daryl have a plan," Maggie whispers, glancing towards the rest of the group, huddled together, voices low.

"What do I need to do?" Beth asks quietly, hesitantly.

"Well, Glenn suggested you could serve as some kind of distraction," Maggie says wryly, "but that was quickly shot down by Daryl. Apparently, your only job is to stick close to him and do as he says."

"But not as he does?" Beth notes and Maggie chuckles.

"Don't know what you did, Bethy, but you've got that man wrapped around your little finger." Maggie observes quietly. Beth blushes. "What happened when you guys were alone?"

"Nothing," Beth is quick to reply.

Nothing and everything. The lie leaves a bitter feeling in her mouth and Maggie looks at her as though she doesn't believe her.

How do you tell your sister that you _don't know_? That you have no idea what you did other than what came naturally?

How do you put that into words?

(_You know._

_Oh.)_

**.**

**.**

**.**

**12. **

They ease their way cautiously downstairs, staying low, staying out of the crossfire. There are bodies littered on the ground, dead and dying and Beth panics slightly; they will animate soon and the candlestick will not do.

Annie makes the mad dash to the sitting room, her low whistle audible over the gunshots, giving her the all clear. Beth hurls herself into the room, slamming the door behind her.

It's as she remembered; guns, food, medicine. Beth throws the younger girl a backpack, tells her to pack light, to pack smart.

The girl isn't dumb, Beth gives her that. She grabs light food first, MREs, then light cans. She throws in a sewing kit, a flashlight, a first aid kit. Soap. _Tampons_. Beth observes her pack, quickly filling her own with items the younger girl might have forgotten or not deemed useful.

Moving her attention to the weapons, she's quick to spot her (_Daryl's_) knife, and holster it to her hip. She grabs the ones she thinks will be easy to wield, handing some to Annie and keeping some for herself. The automatic rifle in her hand reminds her too much of the prison, of blindly shooting through the fence, of running after Daryl through the chaos that it hits her off guard. But like all memories that threaten to overwhelm her, she pushes it down, focuses on the task at hand.

Getting the hell out of there.

"We should do something," Annie says firmly, glancing around the room, "they're going to do this again."

Beth's stomach is in knots because it's the truth. They can _taste_ freedom, they know where to run, who to shoot. They've had this memorised since their first week. But there will be other girls. Girls who won't be so lucky.

"We should burn it down."

Sometimes, with Annie, it's like looking into a mirror and seeing a version of herself and it makes her feel like she's losing her mind.

She's lost so much already, so why not?

But Beth laughs, sounding maniacal, even to her own ears. And before she scares the younger girl, she picks up a bottle from the bar, taking a swig, before smashing it against the ground. Annie moves to follow, before Beth is hit with an idea.

"You ever made a Molotov cocktail?"

She knows the answer, but the smile that spreads over the younger girl's face is so pure and hopeful that Beth would set fire to the whole damn fairground if she could.

She'd burn it all.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xii.**

The bullet grazes her arm, a hot burning pain, as Daryl knocks her to the side. Beside her, Sasha isn't so lucky, but she keeps moving, keeps running. Beth grabs her hand, tugging her along, while the woman favours her left arm.

They make it from the train car to the armoury in the dark. Bob makes a quick tourniquet for Sasha's arm, while they grab what weapons they can. She spies Daryl's crossbow first, making a quick move to reach it and return it to him. A flash of _something_ passes between them when his hand encloses over hers, accepting his bow and in turn handing him her knife. There's a gun too, and a gruff _stay behind me_ that makes her blush despite their situation.

Their freedom or their lives.

It's chaos, running through the dark, bullets whizzing by. The train car that they had once been kept prisoner in, now acts as a shield. She takes out a sniper, well, she thinks she does. She's not quite sure. Beside her, Maggie holds onto her arm, twisting it to the point where she thinks she might pull it from its socket. She pulls her along, not letting her stop or take notice of their surroundings. Just drags her through the night, running at a breakneck pace on adrenaline and fear and determination.

And maybe it's poetic, in her mind, how after what feels like _hours_ they all collapse in the middle of a field. And maybe she feels a bit like _laughing_, because this is her _family_ and they made it, they got out.

They_ won_ this round.

And god knows it was about time.

**.**

* * *

Chapter Song: 'Set Fire to the Third Bar' - Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright


	3. Chapter 3

**.**

**.**

**13.**

"You know how to use it?"

Beth passes Annie a gun, smiling wryly as the familiar songs pop to mind. That's something she misses; the old musicals her Mama was so fond of, singing them while she did the housework.

She tucks that memory aside for later.

"Yeah," Annie nods, checking the safety, noting the rounds.

"You know when to use it?"

This is more important. A gun could mean life or death. It could save your life, or draw the dead closer.

"Yeah," Annie says quietly, tucking it into her waistband. Beth hands her a machete, swallowing heavily.

This is their life now. Weapons above everything.

"Thanks," she says quietly, gripping the handle, distributing the weight in her hand.

Beth's knife is a familiar weight against her thigh. The rifle solid, but temporary; this she knows.

And then there's the bow.

Annie stares at it, her expression a mix of curiosity and intimidation.

"You can use this?"

"Yeah," Beth stares down at the crossbow, lighter than what she's used to, but still effective. The gaudy pink splatters of paint make her cringe, but she doesn't expect much from the Madam. She was always about what was on _show_.

"Did your boyfriend teach you?"

The question slips easily from the young girl's lips and it almost bowls Beth over.

"Not my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry," Annie hangs her head, "is he still alive?"

_You're gonna be the last man standing._

"I don't know," Beth tries not to sound too choked up, tries not to let the young girl see her fears and every emotion she's tried to hide away.

"But we are. Let's focus on that."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xiii.**

It's funny, how in the two years since the end, running has become synonymous with _surviving_.

If you're running, you're alive. If you're running, you haven't given up.

She hasn't. She doesn't think she ever will.

Not anymore.

It's hard to swallow that version of herself, the sixteen year old who wanted so badly for it all to _end_ that she took a shard of glass to her wrist. It was only when the blood was dripping down her arm that she was hit with the now ever-present _will_ to survive.

Not just survive, but to _live_.

Seven weeks, seven months, seven _years_ – it didn't matter. Just breathing wasn't enough anymore. She could live with the constant fear, the constant dread. But she couldn't live without a purpose.

And it was becoming more and more apparent that maybe _he_ could be her purpose.

Maggie is still dragging her along, refusing to let go of her hand, refusing to let her out of her site. Up ahead she can see Glenn, and she knows that as long as Maggie has her in her grasp and Glenn in her sight, that in her sister's eyes, it _might _be alright.

They _might_ make it.

Beth knows that Daryl is behind her. She can't see him, but she _knows_.

And in this moment, with her lungs burning and legs threatening to collapse beneath her, it's the _mights_ and _maybes_ that are enough to keep her going.

They're enough to give her hope.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**14.**

Annie sharpens the machete like someone with purpose. It's then Beth realises that perhaps the young girl might be more accustomed to this than her.

While Beth was deciding whether to live or die, while Beth was looking after a motherless baby, Annie could have been living a very different life.

"Your daddy, what was he like?"

Beth tries to avoid these kind of questions. Makes her think too much about the people she loves, the people she's lost. But the girl has been too quiet since they burnt down their prison and she worries that she might have lost a piece of herself in the flames.

That piece that remembers the happy memories. That piece that can create new ones.

She's silent for a while, the only sound that of stone scraping against blade.

"He was a musician," Annie says slowly, carefully, "he was a good man."

(_I don't think the good ones survived._)

"_Is_." Beth corrects her. Annie throws her a tight smile.

"Yeah."

"Was he famous?" Beth asks, curious.

"Nah," Annie replies, gently tapping the blade, apparently satisfied with her work, "mainly played guitar for some indie singer-songwriters. Toured a lot. Produced. He released a couple of E.P.s, but didn't like being away too long. Didn't like the critics or the politics or the hang-ups of celebrity."

"Did he teach you much?"

"He was teaching me the ukulele," Annie's face brightens, "some nights, we would huddle in these abandoned houses, and he'd talk me through chords and notes and techniques. His favourite song to play was 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'…"

The girl stops mid-sentence, lost in thought, lost in a memory. Her face falls and she balls her hands into fists.

"…I imagine it's where they left him. Next to a pile of burnt out cars, bleeding out and screaming my name as they drove away."

But still, the girl doesn't cry. Hasn't cried since that day Beth told that they didn't get to be 'sad'. And Beth feels the rage flowing through her veins, feels the ever-growing urge to set the whorehouse alight again just to watch and hear them burn.

"He died believing I was already dead."

Her voice is hollow, her tone flat.

"No he didn't." Beth states firmly, "He died remembering how you ran your blade through the skulls of walkers. He died remembering that you knew when to run and knew when to fight."

"I want to believe you're right," Annie whispers, "but it's too _hard_."

"If you focus on the bad," Beth says roughly, "it will destroy you. And you can't live like that."

"Will you help me?"

"Of course."

If there's anything Beth is good at, it's helping others conquer their demons.

Hell, it might be all she's good for.

(She hopes it will be enough.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xiv. **

When they're a safe distance from Terminus (_no such thing_) Rick forces them to stop. Ripping open a man's throat has awoken something in him, awoken the leader he once was, but abandoned in his time of grief.

They need to find shelter. They need to rest and map out their next move beyond escaping their nightmare.

It's by chance that they stumble upon the old farmhouse, too much like her own childhood home that she almost doesn't want to enter. But out of the corner of her eye she can see Maggie steeling herself for the onslaught of memories the familiar threatens to drown them in.

Like big sister, like little sister. She can do this. She _can_.

It's more rundown, though. Was perhaps that way before the turn. Once the house is cleared of walkers, she's allowed in, under the watchful eye of both Daryl and Maggie. A young couple lived here. They were recently married and bought the place to fix it up. Some of the rooms are more finished than others; some have drop cloths over furniture, paint cans stashed in the corners. The house looks picked over, but to her surprise, it's hardly been touched.

Beth guesses that whatever scavenging party may have stumbled upon it quickly assumed it to be not worth their time. There's a metaphor here, broken people and broken houses and it's so tangible and so _true._

There's running water in the laundry and master bathroom. There's a cellar with a small stockpile of cans and evidence of amateur couponing. There's a fully stocked first aid kit because apparently the husband was new to using his hands to fix things and would hurt himself too often in the process.

That's what Beth likes to think, _believe_.

"Come here."

Daryl's tone is low, as he leads her through the hallway towards a small room at the back. It's one of the renovated ones; white furniture and floral wallpaper and gossamer curtains. Were it not for the layer of dust, it would be quite the picture.

(She imagines a young woman, pouring over design magazines, scouring the internet for the _right_ look, and she feels her throat growing tight.)

"Show me."

It's not bad, her arm. She knows it was just a graze. But the way he's grasping her elbow, scrutinizing the bruised and torn flesh, she'd think it was life threatening.

(And, just that graze, just the small patch of broken skin, in his eyes, is too damn close.)

"I'm okay." She says quietly, but still he examines the wound, cleaning it carefully, wrapping it with gauze. His fingers linger over the bandage, before tugging her sweater back into place.

"You should sleep," he mutters gruffly and she nods. She doesn't ask him to join her, because he won't, no matter how many nights they shared, huddled together for warmth in the wild. Not with their family in the same house and her sister down the hall.

"So should you."

But he won't, not yet anyway. He will triple check the house to make sure it is secure. He will map out the exits and count their weapons. He will make sure that they can run at a moments notice. He will make sure that she doesn't get stranded near the road again.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**15.**

She takes a small amount of pride when her blisters are replaced by calluses. Beth takes it as a sign that she is changing, that she is adapting to this new world of protective barriers and hardened skin.

Every day that passes, every day that they are alive she starts to believe more and more that maybe they can make it.

Maybe two girls, alone in a world full of the dead and the living trying to kill them, can _survive_.

Annie eats her squirrel without complaint, chews mechanically and swallows each mouthful like it could have been any other food. They've still got the rations they scavenged from the whorehouse, but Beth doesn't want to use them.

(Desperate times and the like.)

In the four days since their escape, they've killed twelve walkers, six squirrels, and one rabbit. The rabbit was a good day.

They have yet to see a single living soul. But Beth wants to make sure that when they do, they're ready.

"Draw first," Beth murmurs quietly, "finger _always_ on the trigger. Don't let your arm shake."

"Don't show fear," Annie recites.

"Good," Beth praises, "trust your instincts. Trust _my_ instincts."

"I've got your back and you've got mine."

Never in Beth's life, she thinks, have truer words been spoken. She places her faith in a fourteen-year-old girl and as the days go by, not once does it waver.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xv.**

They decide to stay a few days.

Correction: they are exhausted, emotionally and physically. They are still dealing with the aftermath of trauma, and a plethora of injuries.

_They need to stay a few days_.

Abraham doesn't like the plan. Abraham doesn't like plans that don't include taking the scientist to Washington.

Beth finds herself wary around the newcomers, despite the fact that Tara saved Glenn, and the trio helped reunite him with Maggie. It was easier to trust them in the train car, when all she had was that knowledge, that small sliver of evidence that love can and will conquer all.

Reality is different in open spaces.

Daryl clashes with all of them. Blames Tara for her daddy's murder (even though Maggie has absolved her from all guilt). Resents the soldiers for thinking they can come in and tell his people what's what. Spends his time glaring at the scientist, whose eyes linger a little too long on her for her own comfort. And his, apparently.

"I want to believe," Beth says quietly, huddled under a blanket beside him while he keeps guard, "I want to believe that they are good people. But it's hard."

Daryl is silent for a long time.

"They're alright," he mutters gruffly, "even the mullet. Don't like the way he looks at you though."

"Do you think they're good people?"

Beth finds herself holding her breath. It's hard, now. To trust, to believe. She spends her night lying awake, waiting for the knife to drop and for her family to be ripped apart again.

"I'll think whatever you think."

Oh.

_Oh_.

And suddenly his judgment is in her hands and if she wants to leave, they'll leave. And if she wants to stay, they'll stay. And if she deems these new people worthy, deems them _good_, then he'll take it as gospel.

Even with their family reunited, it's still them against the world. Eating mud snake and burning down houses and filling the silences with her own sweet song.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**16.**

"Do you think we'll find your group?"

Annie is evidently hopeful. Upbeat for once too, munching on a chocolate bar they scavenged from the last house they stayed in. She's reminded of her science class, something about chocolate and endorphins and happiness, but she's not sure.

She never graduated, remember.

"Maybe," Beth replies, objectively, trying not to get her hopes up too high. Georgia's a big state and they can only cover so much ground. Who knows how many times they might have missed each other, by only a matter of hours.

"Do you think they'll let me join?"

"Oh sweetie…"

It's that moment, when Beth's heart breaks just that little bit more for the younger girl, who has proved herself a thousand times over that she is every bit a warrior, but worries that they might not deem her _worthy_.

"We met a group once," Annie says carefully, picking at a loose thread in her sweater, "that seemed alright. They were well set up and their leader was a nice man. We stayed with them for three days and I started thinking that maybe this could work out. Maybe we could stay in one place for longer than a week. But then my dad woke me up in the middle of the night and we left. Walked all night and kept walking until the sun rose. He never told me why, he just told me that they weren't 'good people'. He didn't trust anyone after that."

"My group won't hurt you," Beth says quietly, a multitude of horrifying and heartbreaking scenarios running through her head, "don't worry."

"Are they good people?"

"I don't believe in good people," Beth replies firmly, "not anymore. There are only people surviving. And sometimes it's through evil means. And sometimes it's through necessary means. But no one is good. Not even you or me."

This new world has made sure to erase anything good. This new world has turned them all into monsters.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xvi.**

Daryl throws a punch at the scientist for his general creepy behaviour and Maggie is quick to pull her to the side.

It's becoming harder to hide this _thing_ between them. It reveals itself in the form of lingering glances and their relatively close proximity. It is whispered conversations and his hand guiding her gently. It is in the panic they try to hide when too much time has passed and the other is nowhere to be seen.

Today, however, it is Daryl's fist connecting with the scientist's face when he compliments her ass.

"What the hell is going on?" Maggie hisses, as their group starts to fall apart; Abraham yelling obscenities, Rick trying to keep the peace, and Glenn just trying to keep Daryl from hitting Eugene.

"Nothing!" Beth snaps and Maggie's eyes narrow.

"The correct answer, Beth, would have been, 'what do you mean'. So answer me honestly, what the _hell_ is going on between you and Daryl Dixon?"

The group is starting to calm down, Rick forever the voice of reason. Beth feels her stomach loosen, the knots unravelling.

"I don't know."

"Jesus, Beth," Maggie brings her hand to her temple, sighing heavily, "you know he's got almost twenty years on you?"

"Age doesn't matter anymore," Beth fires back, feeling too much like a petulant child.

"He's got suitcases full of emotional baggage."

"Who doesn't?"

Maggie shakes her head, frowning.

"You're not thinking this through, Bethy. You're not thinking through the consequences."

"Consequences?" Beth questions, eyebrows raised, "like happiness? Like love?"

"Love?" Maggie repeats, surprise written all over her features, "Do you love Daryl Dixon?"

Beth shrugs.

"I don't know. If there was anyone more deserving of love, it would definitely be him."

"This isn't one of your vampire novels," Maggie sighs, "this isn't going to have a happy ending. You are not going to ride into the sunset on his motorcycle."

Beth is silent, staring at the ground, mulling over his sisters words.

"I know you think I'm weak."

"Beth, it's not that-"

"I saw the signs," she blurts out, "I know you didn't think I made it. I know you think I'm living on borrowed time and you're just steeling yourself for the inevitable. I don't blame you for that. But I'm getting stronger – Daryl's helping to make me stronger. Soon I'll be able to look after myself."

Maggie sighs.

"Love makes you reckless, Beth. It makes you take risks you normally wouldn't take. It makes you want to _die_ for someone. And in this new world, you probably will."

"Isn't it better to die for _something_?" Beth whispers, her eyes stinging.

"It's better if you don't die at _all_," Maggie says firmly, "I just got you back. I don't think I could bear to lose you again."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**17.**

Annie's experienced in sifting through the lives of others, a skill Beth lacks, and it's the younger girl that takes the lead – banging on door frames, waiting patiently for walkers to stumble out.

Most of the houses are picked over, but there's little things left that they find useful. A small sewing kit in a kitchen drawer, a box of asprin in a handbag. Warmer clothes, better backpacks. Sometimes Annie marvels at how much people leave behind that's actually useful.

Sometimes Beth thinks that could describe them too.

As they head further north, the houses become few and far between. It's dangerous, with winter fast approaching and each new place they move to feels like a gamble because it might yield a lot or nothing at all.

And as they grow more desperate, no doubt do others.

"There's a house up ahead," Annie murmurs, shifting her machete to her other hand. Beth looks left and right, squinting through the tree line.

"There."

Annie walks ahead a few paces, standing on a fallen log, pointing out to the distance.

Indeed there is; a small, overgrown path hiding a latched gate, dense tree cover providing a natural wall. The latch is rusted tight, but the girls dump their stuff on the other side, vaulting over gracefully. Picking up their packs, Beth takes the lead, following the path carefully, using Annie's machete to clear branches inconspicuously, making sure to hide their tracks. This part of Georgia is so wild, so overgrown, that they must have walked thirty minutes until they're forced to a standstill.

Covered in vines and overgrown shrubs is a wall. A seven-foot high brick wall.

"Wow," Annie breathes, "this is amazing."

"Yeah," Beth echoes, and she has to force herself not to let her imagination get the better of her.

(_We could live here. We could live here for the rest of our lives_.)

"I'm going to give you a boost," Beth tells the younger girl, dropping her pack and bow to the side, "let me know if you see any walkers. Or people for that matter."

Annie nods solemnly, wrapping some fabric around her hands to protect them from the branches. Beth makes a step out of her hands, propelling the girl upwards as she pulls herself up the wall.

"No walkers," Annie murmurs after a while, "it's one of those green houses."

"Like for plants?" Beth asks.

"No, like, solar panels and water tanks and stuff. I'm going to go over."

"Be careful," Beth hisses.

When she hears the younger girl drop to the ground, Beth hurls their bags over. Ripping up a shirt, she covers her hands and grabs the vines, using them to climb over the wall. Her footing isn't the steadiest, but she's light enough to trust that they won't snap beneath her.

It's when she lowers herself over the other side, using the vines to rappel, that she hears the click of a safety and her stomach drops.

"You move and I kill you."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xvii.**

"Is this place for real?"

Beth ignores Rosita as the woman voices aloud what they're all thinking. That by some _miracle_ they've managed to catch a break. Find _refuge_. And in this doomsday prepper's dream home no less.

"There's hot water!" Maggie exclaims, running the tap in the kitchen.

Beth's eyes widen as various group members call out their discoveries. But she chooses to hang back, beside Daryl. It wasn't too long ago that they came across their own dream home and she shivers at the memory.

"It's too dusty," Daryl tells her quietly, and she knows what he's doing, trying to reassure her, "no one's been here for awhile."

"Yeah," Beth breathes, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, "yeah."

He grabs her hand, entwining their fingers, a gesture reminiscent of the funeral home. The place haunts her, but those memories for a different reason. They are walking the thin line between friendship and something _more_. And she's desperately itching to _cross_ that line.

"You should have a shower," he murmurs and her eyebrows quirk.

"_You_ should have a shower."

He smirks and she giggles, shifting to stand before him, bringing their joined hands to her heart.

The thing about Daryl? He just _understands_. Every glance, every gesture. The _significance_. And when she raises their hands to her lips and places a gentle kiss on their entwined fingers, the look he gives her makes her believe even more that _this_ could be something _magical_.

"You can do better than me, Beth," he says softly, meeting her gaze.

"There's no one better," Beth whispers fiercely, "you're the best man I know, Daryl Dixon."

He grunts and she moves to kiss him, to convince him, that her words are true and her feelings real. It's chaste, but sweet and she continues to hold their hands to her heart.

But then Sasha screams.

And their moment is shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**18.**

Beth doesn't turn around, but presses herself close to the wall. At the moment she has a chance; the knife on her thigh a warm, comforting weight and if she's quick enough, sneaky enough, she could get the jump on their attacker, give Annie some time to escape.

_Annie_. That's her purpose now. Her goal.

"Turn around!" the man directs at Beth, who doesn't move.

"Please," Annie pleads, "we don't mean any harm. We'll leave, just…just let us leave and you'll never see us again."

"Hey!" the man yells, "I have a gun trained on your friend. If you don't turn around and drop the knife I know you're holding, I'll kill her."

Eyes stinging with tears she's desperately trying to hold back, Beth lets her knife drop to the ground, before raising her hands, turning slowly.

"Oh my god."

She doesn't miss the shock on Annie's face when she hurls herself into the arms of their attacker. Doesn't miss the surprise when the man hugs her back.

"Tyreese, oh my god!" Beth says again, her grip on him tightening, "I can't believe it…"

"Beth," he says softly, "oh Beth. You made it. I'm so happy you made it."

"Who's with you?" Beth asks quickly, "Sasha? Maggie? Glenn?"

"No," Tyreese shakes his head sadly; "I haven't seen them since the prison."

"Did you get out with anyone?" Beth asks, feeling the desperation curl in her stomach.

"I got out with Judith."

_Judith_. Suddenly, there's not enough oxygen in the world and her heart is threatening to burst free from her chest. It is both loud and quiet and she can vaguely hear Annie and Tyreese trying to get her attention, but in that moment all she can think is _Judith, Judith, Judith_.

Her body is too heavy and her thoughts are too loud. Her knees buckle and for the first time since she found the shoes on the railway tracks, she cries.

Oh god, she cries.

And when she sees Carol emerging from the house, when she sees little Judith in her arms, it's when she's hit with a sudden burst of clarity and her world comes spinning back into focus.

_We all have jobs to do_.

The baby reaches for her, gurgling happily and Beth _knows _that it will be Judith's smile and purity and _goodness_ that will slowly erase the bad.

This baby will make her whole again. This baby will mend her fractured heart.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xviii.**

They arrive, weapons raised, to the garage, just in time to see Sasha throwing her arms around her brother.

_Her brother_.

Beth's heart leaps with joy as she watches the tearful reunion. She's grateful, so grateful for Sasha, for the _first_ good thing to happen since terminus, since spending _days _running through the forest, the ghosts of their captors hot on their tails. There were tearful conversations whispered under the blanket of night, filled with hope and fear and that bond of younger siblings.

That realisation that they aren't there to protect you. That hollow feeling of _what now_.

But it's the figures behind Tyreese that causes Beth to freeze in her place.

A girl.

Carol.

_Judith_.

It's Carl who runs to her. It's Rick that falls to his knees. She doesn't realise she's crying until Daryl pulls her close and she feels her own tears on his shirt. And then she's gripping him, so tight the fabric threatens to tear.

Because this is everything she hoped for. Every best case scenario that ran through her head every night since the prison fell. This is good. So so _so_ good.

Maggie gently pries her away from Daryl and Carl soon after deposits the baby into her arms. She's still sobbing, still so hysterically happy and it isn't until Judith's familiar weight settles in her thin, but strong arms, that she realises how empty they had been.

How empty she had been.

"Hey, Ass Kicker," Daryl murmurs, and she positively _beams_ at him through her tears. And he smiles, _genuinely_ smiles, pressing a kiss first to Judith's head, then to hers.

This is their family. This is everything they had lost, now found.

This is happiness. This is hope.

**.**

**.**

* * *

Chapter songs:

'Annie get your Gun' - Audra Mae and the Almighty Sound

'Running up that Hill' - Placebo


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you for all the reviews/follows/favourites and to anyone who may have read it and enjoyed it. Special thank you to carpediem-365 who rec'd this little fic on tumblr. It was a pleasant surprise to see it pop up during my daily lurk of the bethyl tag. This is my longest and favourite chapter so far, so I do hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

**.**

**.**

**19.**

Annie pushes the food around on her plate, eying it warily. Eying _them_ warily. She refuses to hold the baby.

"You can trust them," Beth tells her quietly, in the room they share because they're not quite ready to let go of that closeness, let go of the sense of security that comes with knowing that someone has your back.

Even in this fortress like house. Even surrounded by family.

"I just need time."

Beth forgets that she's seen more than she'll ever be able to fathom.

It's easy to fall back into old habits, waking up with Judith's cries, singing her to sleep, but it's Carol's lingering when she feeds the baby and Tyreese's sudden appearance seconds after her when Judith starts crying that reminds her that it's not like that anymore.

Hasn't been for a while.

Beth needs to learn to let go of her old roles. Needs to embrace her new ones.

_Hunter. Protector_.

Beth Greene, ladies and gentlemen.

It's refreshing how Tyreese and Carol don't try to stop her from going outside the walls. She tells them a bit about after the prison; tells them she got out with Daryl, tells them they got separated. Tells them that's how she met up with Annie.

_Met up_. She doesn't lie, but she doesn't elaborate on the truth. She doesn't think she could stand their pity, their realisations about the horrifying fate they narrowly avoided. Beth doesn't think about it, doesn't dwell. The nightmares are commonplace now and she's learned to wake up without screaming.

Small victories and the like.

"We aren't safe there," Annie says firmly, her nimble fingers setting snares, tying together branches, "One man, two women, a girl, and a baby."

"We're well hidden," Beth tells her gently, "remember how hard it was for us to find the house?"

"What if they leave us?" Annie whispers, crouched down. There's a faint sniffle and Beth kneels beside her, embracing the girl who is trying her best not to cry.

"They won't."

Beth tries to sound sure, tries to sound determined. But she hears the hope in her voice and they both know that hope alone won't save them. As nice as it sounds.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xix. **

Her name is Annie and she is a _wolf_.

That's the best way to describe her, Beth determines, as the young girl watches her family with a sharp eye, her weapon never far from her reach. She stays close to Carol, to Tyreese. Closer to Judith, and she overhears Carol quietly telling her _Rick is her father_ before she backs off with a cautious _okay_.

Tyreese doesn't elaborate on how they came to be a group of four. There's a vague _she found us_ that breaks her heart a little and when she tries to speak to the girl, she gives her a piercing glare and leaves the room.

Beth tries not to take it personally, but still, it stings.

She forgot how much she missed _this_, staying awake with Judith, which sounds ridiculous to even herself. The baby is restless and teething and as Beth moves from the small room she shares with Carol, she already can hear the petering out of small cries, a faint, but steady voice singing a lullaby not meant for little children.

_The blood was dry it was sober_

_The feeling of audible cracks_

_And I could tell it was over _

_From the curtains that hung from your neck…_

"Her mother died when she was born."

Carol's voice is loud in the silence and Beth jumps in her spot by the door, startling much easier even when surrounded by so many familiar faces.

"Like Lori?"

Her silence is confirmation.

"Men killed her father, not walkers. Men took her to be sold, but she escaped."

"She's strong," Beth observes, listening to the girl's haunting song.

"Stronger than most. Poor thing had to be, even before the turn. She's been fighting her guilt her whole life and she doesn't want Judith to have to do the same."

"No one does."

"And she won't," Carol says firmly, "Not while you're still breathing. Not while we're all here, alive and fighting."

"I always wanted to be a mother," Beth whispers, the words tasting familiar, comforting, and warm.

"You are," Carol murmurs, "oh, sweet girl, you are."

This world makes orphans of them all. But even amongst so much death and destruction, there is still love.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**20.**

She goes on a run with Carol, leaving Tyreese with Annie and Judith, much to the younger girl's chagrin. It's part of her plan; the girl needs to learn to trust. She spent too long creating a warrior, teaching her how to _survive_, that she's stopped living. Stopped laughing. And Beth blames herself.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

In the small corner store, Beth packs her back with toiletries and baby supplies, trying to ignore the stench of the twice dead body by the door. There's not many non-perishables left, but there's enough to call this run a success.

"Talk about what?" Beth hums, checking the expiration dates on baby food.

"What happened to you and Annie."

She drops the small jar and it shatters.

"Beth?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she says firmly, trying to still her shaking hands.

Carol glances at her, eyes wary.

"Were you raped, Beth?"

"No!" she snaps, "Lord no."

"Did they hurt you? Annie?"

"I was taken," Beth offers reluctantly, "Annie, well, she was taken too, but it was worse. They, they killed her father. There was a whorehouse-"

"Was?" Carol interrupts.

"We burnt it down."

"Oh," Carol nods, lips pursed, "they do that to your hair?"

Beth barks a laugh. She's forgotten about that. Between running for their lives and trying to keep it all together, she'd forgotten her blonde locks had been replaced by chocolate brown.

"Yeah," Beth tugs on her ponytail, "they were grooming us. To be sold."

Carol's look is one of pure pity, her stance poised to embrace her, to comfort her when she inevitable breaks down.

But it's not going happen. Not here, not now.

Not ever if she can help it.

"I'm not a victim," Beth sighs, "please don't treat me like one."

The nod Carol offers her is heavy with understanding and Beth remembers that she lived a life of pain and then some before the turn, lost her daughter after, and everything to this point has been a chain of reactions, for better or worse.

For her family, for their survival.

And Beth can't fault her for that.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xx.**

She spends several fruitless days trying to address the _awkwardness_ between them that the only thing she achieve is more awkwardness.

Maggie observes with a sharp eye and Glenn with an amused one. Even Rick watches them with a wary hesitancy, like he's debating whether or not to ask the question that everyone is wondering.

_What's going on between you two?_

Nothing. Everything. _Something_.

_Who knows?_

And she wants so desperately to find out.

So she volunteers to go hunting with him. And by volunteers, she means she tags along, without his permission. But she's rusty and her footsteps are too heavy and by his stance, she can tell she's quickly becoming a hindrance. A burden she never wanted to become.

He throws an arm out to stop her, signalling her to be quiet while he points towards the distance.

It's a deer and her breath catches in her throat. He thrusts the crossbow into her arms.

"Take the shot."

She accepts the weapon, albeit hesitantly. It's a familiar weight, but still, he adjusts her arms so she has a firmer grip. She lines up her target, taking a few careful steps closer.

When she fires the bolt and the animal goes down, she calls 'beginner's luck'.

Daryl nods approvingly and she frowns.

"What?"

"Nothing," she sighs, moving towards the animal.

"Don't play that game, Greene, Daryl snaps, "I don't need that bullshit."

The words sting in the way they had at the moonshine shack. She whirls around, getting up into her face.

Like before.

"Fine." Beth bites, "Fine, Daryl, no games. Cards on the table – I want you."

His silence is expected and she continues on her tirade.

"And I'm sick and tired of tip-toeing around _us_, like, one moment you can't tear your eyes away, and the next your avoiding me for days. I want you. You want me. Can't that be enough?"

Daryl sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"It's not that simple, Beth."

"Look around," Beth throws her arms out, gesturing wildly, "nothing is. We fight so hard for every scrap of happiness that it almost _kills_ us. I want to _enjoy_ that happiness."

She's panting, in that rushed sort of way that comes with desperate thoughts said aloud. And he's looking at her in that way that makes her want him, want him in a way she's never wanted Jimmy or Zach, a way that burns her up at night, in the small room she shares with Carol, with him just down the hall.

"What do you want, Daryl?"

A lifetime could pass between them in the few minutes he takes to deliberate her question, before he steps close, hands framing her cheeks. One hand moves to tangle in her ponytail, touching the small braid with the utmost of care.

"You. I want you too."

And when he closes the distance, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that is the complete opposite of that in the foyer. It's hard and filled with longing and desperation, their teeth clashing and tongues battling and all she can do is hang on.

It is rough and primal and filled with every word, every syllable that he'll never say aloud.

It's a love poem set on fire.

It's everything she wanted.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**21.**

It's anti-climatic, really. Their reunion.

Beth supposes, at the end of the day, that she only has herself to blame. Too many nights spent in the whorehouse _praying _for his arrival, upon his motorbike, brandishing the crossbow, ready to kill everyone is his path. Then there were the woods, keeping watch, dreaming that one day _the signs would be all there_ and they would lead her to him.

But it's Annie and Beth strolling into the house after a hunt, giggling about something stupid, reunion already in progress. And she stands silently on the outskirts, just watching, because this is all she dreamed of; Tyreese reunited with his sister, Judith, sweet Judith, in the arms of her father and brother. Annie squeezes her hand, pushing her forward into the fray.

And there's shocked silence.

Maggie bursts into tears, unable to move and it's Daryl, Daryl Dixon, who steps forward from his own corner, throwing down his crossbow and sweeping her into his arms. As quick as he has embraced her, he pushes her away, murmuring nonsense to the curious crowd. But Maggie in quick to fill his place; teary eyed and joyful and she hugs her for a good five minutes straight.

It's an hour before she's able to step out and breath and lord knows she's never felt so loved.

"That your boyfriend?" Annie calls out, perched on the swing. In the distance, by the fence line, Daryl paces. He hears her, she can tell, but ignores them.

"Not my boyfriend, Annie," Beth sighs, joining her on the other swing. She kicks her legs up, pushing herself into the air and the younger girl follows suit.

They're flying.

Annie jumps mid-swing, landing hard on her knees, but she simply stands, brushing herself off.

"Hey, Beth's non-boyfriend!"

Daryl turns at the sound and Annie scampers away, laughing.

"Brat!" Beth calls out, slowing her swings. By the time he reaches her, she's stopped, feet digging into the dirt.

"Where'd you find her?" Daryl asks gruffly, glancing in the direction that Annie disappeared in.

"She just appeared," Beth jokes weakly, not quite ready to tell him the truth. He can tell, to her relief, and he lets it slide.

"Good," Daryl says, finally, "I'm glad you weren't, uh, alone."

"I wasn't," Beth says quickly, eager to ease his guilt, "even when I was, it felt like you were there. You and Maggie and everyone." She glances down shyly, "You all kept me going."

He's quiet, gnawing his lip and as she kicks her heels into the dirt.

"I missed you like hell, Greene."

And there it is.

"Yeah," Beth smiles gently, "I knew you would."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxi**

In the days that follow, they move from 'Beth and Daryl' towards 'BethandDaryl', much to the amusement/wariness/surprise/nonchalance of the others.

Maggie is hesitant, naturally, but it's not a new concept, not for her at least, and she gently gives them her blessing, her words heavy with worry.

It's all new, all daunting and they decide to ere on the side of caution. They go about their daily chores, they share their meals with their family. She still sleeps in the small room with Carol, he still sleeps down the hall. It's the small moments that they steal, by the swing set, in the library. In corners, in shadows, in the rare moments of privacy and silence.

Beth slowly returns to looking after Judith, after Rick hesitantly asks her one day. And of course she's eager; there's no doubt in her heart the extent to which she loves that little girl. There's no limit to what she would do to keep her safe.

So she resumes her nightly duties, waking to her cries, then soothing them; singing her to sleep.

"She like Fleetwood Mac."

Mid song, Beth pauses, glancing at the girl in the doorway. Annie leans against he door jam, hair hanging in her face.

It hits Beth that maybe this was _her_ job; maybe this was her own small comfort in a world gone to hell. Singing songs to a little girl, making the night a little less desolate.

"Any in particular?" Beth asks carefully.

_Lovely Judy, can you see_

_Where it is you're meant to be_

_Where you lay your head tonight_

_May the stars find your light_

Her voice is husky, with an edge that lingers throughout the soft, manipulated lullaby. Beth rocks Judith, who indeed settles, appearing on the cusp of sleep.

"That's real pretty," Beth offers, sincerely.

"My daddy was a big fan," Annie shares quietly, "Used to call me his songbird."

Beth smiles, before passing the baby into her arms.

"You want to put her down for me? I don't think I can stay awake any longer." The lie is effortless and obvious, but the younger girl beams.

"Sure."

Beth falls asleep listening to songs about landslides and seven wonders and dreams. Beth falls asleep listening to a young girl who is just starting to heal.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**22.**

She wakes up for the first time in forever feeling _safe_.

Someone is cooking _breakfast_, no lie. There are eggs and tomatoes and canned ham and she feels like she could be dreaming. Annie wakes suddenly, jolting up like a jack-knife, sniffing the air tentatively.

"Holy shit."

Beth would have chastised her, were she not so inclined to echo her sentiment.

Slipping on her boots, she leaves the younger girl to sleep in a little more, making her way down the stairs towards to kitchen to offer her assistance. It's music to her ears, Maggie and Sasha laughing as they cook up their morning feast and Tyreese perches on a barstool, holding a cheerful, squirming Judith. Glenn is playing cards with one of the newcomers, Carl, and Bob. The laughter makes her heart swell.

This is her family and they found her.

"Morning, hon," Carol greets her kindly, "help me set the table?"

The long trellis table seats about twenty, but Beth hazards a guess that maybe that many lived here at some stage, photos around the house depicting that of a rather large family. Carol places the plates down, while Beth trails behind her with cutlery. Annie arrives just as they finish, yawning and stretching.

"Just in time," Carol smiles, "you can help Sasha and Maggie bring the food over. "I'm going to round everyone up."

Annie scampers off obediently and Beth laughs. Maggie deposits a tray of roasted tomatoes, seasons with dried herbs they found in the overflowing pantry. Tugging her hair, Maggie sits down, sighing dramatically.

"Didn't realise cooking for this many people was so hard," she complains good-naturedly, looking up and down the empty table.

"You just got out of it at the prison," Beth teases, and Maggie jabs her in the side, chuckling. The others start to trickle in, drawn over by the delicious fragrances. Daryl slips in beside her, Glenn beside Maggie and Beth wonders momentarily, that if in another life, another universe, this might have been reminiscent of Sunday dinners at the farm. The Greene girls and their significant others.

Because Daryl Dixon is significant to _her_.

She feels that familiar tugging at her heart, the one that threatens to consume her, in a good way. Annie is all smiles as she places a bowl on the table, Tyreese flicking her ponytail affectionately. Rick cradles Judith and even the newcomers look at ease, digging in enthusiastically.

"Maybe you could sing us something later, Bethy," Maggie says affectionately.

"Maybe," Beth smiles noncommittally, and leaves her answer to be forgotten.

She's nowhere near resembles the girl she once was, at least, not in her eyes. These scars aren't visible, but she feels them as if they were.

But it's getting easier to cover them. It's getting easier to forget that they're there.

And maybe, one day, they'll just be a thin, pale line on her soul, so far from her reality that they only manifest themselves in nightmares.

Maybe. One day.

Here's hoping.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxii.**

From the moment they go quasi-public with their _relationship_ (the word feels like sand in her mouth), it's almost like he's staked a claim.

On her. On her safety and wellbeing.

It's touching, it's confusing, it's sweet, it's _weird_.

Definitely weird.

He's her third _boyfriend_ (another word that doesn't quite feel right), but he's so different, so unlike the others, that she feels like she's starting from scratch.

And maybe in some ways she is.

He's hesitant to touch her, but he's always in her peripheral, always lingering close by. Making sure she's fed and warm and god, some days she thinks that if she asked for the sun, he'd give it to her. Or even looked at it, for that matter. He's trying to anticipate her every want and need and _desire_ and this isn't what she wants, to be some post-apocalyptic deity to be _worshipped _from a far. She is a woman, made of flesh and bone, bent but not broken.

He'd place her in a glass box, if he could. Put her on a high shelf; hide her away from the world.

But that's no way to live.

When she cuts her hand on a frayed edge of a wire scourer, she lets out a surprise shriek of pain. He's by her side in seconds, pushing Maggie to the side, cradling her hand in her palm and crowding her against the sink. _Shielding her_, she corrects herself because this is what it is; Daryl Dixon throwing himself between her and danger. Even when danger is her overenthusiastic scrubbing and a worn cleaning implement.

He ignores Carol who appears with a first aid kit, ignores Rick and Glenn who hover in the doorway, drawn in by the commotion and now watching the scene unfold. He grabs a dish towel and dampens it, wiping away the blood that has already slowed to a trickle. His hand shakes almost imperceptibly, and she feels her throat constricting.

"I'm fine, Daryl, it's just a scratch. Nothing to save me from here."

His head snaps up, eyes flashing with an emotion she doesn't quite recognise. Grabbing her wrist, he drags her from the kitchen, through the small, curious crowd and up to his room.

"Beth," he murmurs, eyes cast downwards, as if he's preparing for what he's going to say. But he quickly changes his mind, instead retrieving a bandage and a small tube of antiseptic cream from his pack, treating her hand with the utmost of care.

"You don't have to protect me 24/7, Daryl Dixon," Beth says softly, his fingers lingering over her bandaged wound.

"Yeah, I do," Daryl says gruffly, "Ain't never had anything like this before. Anything that was mine and mine alone. Ain't never had anything that I'd gladly die to protect."

"Daryl, you don't have to-"

"Nah, Beth, you don't get it," he interrupts, looking her straight in the eye, "I need _to_. Let me do this, Beth. Let me be selfish and keep you safe."

She nods slowly, reaching up with her good hand to trace the contours of his jaw.

"Okay, Daryl Dixon. Okay."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**23.**

She keeps her old routines and that, perhaps, is her error. It's been _Annie and Beth VS. the World_ for so long that it's become their mantra, and as she slips out of the house at first light, she knows Annie's not far behind. When Beth ties up her heavy boots, Annie does the same. Identical brown knots at the top of their heads, knives sheaved on their hip, empty duffle bags slung over their shoulders. They found a house last run full of baby things; toys and clothes and _formula_, and it felt like they hit the jackpot. Between reunions and the awkward adjustment period of everyone being back together under one roof, they hadn't had the chance to go back.

This morning is their chance.

They are cautious, but fill the silence with soft chatter. Watching the young girl open up and interact with her family warms her heart; she explains in detail the new techniques Michonne has been teaching her, and the comics her and Carl found in a box in the attic. It brings her a sense of peace knowing that maybe, finally, she can have the chance to just be a _girl_, not something to be bought or sold, but something to be loved. To be cherished. To be _free_.

The day brings good weather and good luck. They make it to the house with ease, encountering neither human nor walker. As well as baby things, there's a well stocked first aide kit and a better stocked wet bar.

Annie eyes Beth as she shoves a few bottles in the duffle.

"You gonna burn something down?"

Beth throws her a sly smile.

"Gonna drink it this time."

She puts down two walkers on the way home, easily and cleanly and Annie crows about having luck on her side and how it must be a Monday, because Mondays were always her lucky days. And Beth just laughs, humming _Manic Monday_ because her Mama loved The Bangles and Annie admits her Daddy did too and there's something about 80's girl bands that stir feelings of sisterhood and solidarity.

And apparently rage, in the form of Daryl Dixon, who storms towards them as soon as they reach the house, his strides long and anger radiating off him.

"Are you out of your mind, girl!"

Beside her, Annie flinches and Beth nudges her to run along; this is not her fight, she is not the subject of his fury. But Annie stands strong, fourteen and fearless and Beth has to give her credit for that. Regardless, Beth nudges the girl again, giving her a slow nod and Annie scampers off with the bags.

"You shoudn't scare her like that, Daryl," Beth admonishes, glaring at him. He grabs her arm, pulling her away from the house.

"Good," he snaps, "she should be scared of me. She should be scared of what's out _there_."

"What's your problem?" Beth yells, shaking her arm loose.

"My problem?" Daryl stares at her like she's out of her mind, "What's my problem? What's your problem, Greene? Why the _fuck_ do you think it's a good idea to sneak out at the crack of dawn without telling anyone? And taking a _goddamn_ _kid_ with you?"

She flinches, but doesn't back down.

"This is what I do now," she bites back, "this is who I am. I don't need your permission, I don't need anyone's permission."

"Christ, Greene," he snaps, "that's not even the point! The point is that I…that _we _woke up and you were gone. Do you know what it's like…"

_To lose you_. He doesn't say it, doesn't need to, not when it's painted across his features, the fear and the despair and the anguish. And she feels guilty, feels like, yeah, she's in the wrong, that a whole multitude of things could have happened and sometimes she feels a bit invincible. A bit like a cat with nine lives and she's got more than enough left.

More than that, though, she feels like she's let him down.

"I'm sorry," she says softly, sincerely, trying to get him to look her in the eye, "I truly am."

"You survived," Daryl says quietly, scuffling his boots on the dirt, "you made it. Guess you don't need anybody for anything anymore."

Her heart breaks a little and her voice wavers.

"I wanted you to save me," she murmurs, "had all these dreams where you'd swoop in and rescue me, and we'd ride off on your motorcycle, everything burning behind us. They were so real and so vivid that I started to wish for nightmares instead. But you don't have nightmares when you're living one."

"Beth-"

"I saved myself," she interrupts, grabbing his hand, pulling him closer, "there aren't any damsels in distress anymore. None that truly make it."

"I ran," he swallows thickly, "all night and day until I hit the crossroads…"

"I know," Beth squeezes his hand, "I know you would never have stopped looking."

The air around them is heavy, time seeming to stop. So much silence, so much weight in that one, single moment. Unspoken emotions and sentiments, returned tenfold. His eyes screaming _forgive me_, hers staring back intently, _there's nothing to forgive_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxiii.**

When he comes back from a hunt with human blood, not walker blood, on his hands, he brings with him a new intensity that flips their entire relationship on its axis.

It isn't hesitant. It isn't careful. It is needy and determined and it makes her burn from the inside out.

Maggie notices this too, and with as much grace, as much stoicism as she can muster, thrusts a handful of condoms in her hand and tells her to be careful and to be smart.

_Smart_. Of course.

Still, Maggie's guarded acceptance warms her heart.

"What happened?" she whispers, in his room, when he returns from his watch. Her nightgown feels too thin, looks too white, and his eyes linger on the straps that refuse to sit upon her shoulder.

"Nothing," he mutters and she frowns.

"Why were you covered with fresh blood?"

"Leave it alone, Beth."

"Daryl…"

"I did what I had to do," he snaps, piercing the silence, "and I'd do it again."

"Where there many?" Beth whispers, her hair falling in her face.

"There were enough."

"Where they…bad?"

The question feels awkward and childish. She knows there's no black and white anymore, and even though she believes in good people, she knows that even they might not be plain as day.

"They knew we were here," he says quietly, "had been watching us. Watching _you_. Knew your name. So I killed them."

It's probably not the right thing, to kiss him after he's confessed to killing a whole group of people for her. It's not something that should feel romantic, not something that should fill her with warmth and longing. But she shudders against him, her hands gripping his shoulders clumsily, pressing herself into him.

He's a tightly wound elastic band. And in that moment, he _snaps._

When he throws her on the bed, she lands with a bounce, breathless and anxious with anticipation. He hovers over her, watching her and she can only imagine how she looks to him; blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, clad in white like some kind of virgin bride. It's not a lie, though, she is, and his eyes darken as she bites her lip, feeling the heat pool between her legs.

"I want this," she breathes, "I want _you_."

And maybe that sets something off within him, some kind of wild creature that she's released from its cage. Any semblance of restraint, any hesitance he once had is thrown to the wind when his hands slip to the hem of her nightgown, slipping it up over her head and throwing it to the ground.

"_Fuck_."

She raises up to meet his lips, harsh and biting and god, he has her moaning like some kind of wanton woman. His hands trail her body, setting every nerve ending alight. His fingers skim the edge of her panties, dipping under the thin fabric and thrusting up into her core.

"How are you this tight?" he breathes, his thumb moving to circle her clit, her breathing laboured, "How are you even real?"

"Maybe this is a dream," she whimpers, writhing around as his fingers continue their steady rhythm.

He captures her lips in another bruising, breath stealing kiss, swallowing her cries that threaten to wake their household.

"If it is, I never want to wake up."

And god, if his words don't make her even more needy, begging for him, begging for him to love her in that way she's never experienced. She pushes his hands away, moving for his belt quickly so he'd know she wasn't rejecting him, but encouraging him. He toes his boots off, his jeans quickly following and she fumbles around on his bedside table for a condom Maggie had provided.

He takes her breath away, literally and figuratively and as she stares at him (_all of him_) she can only murmur a soft _oh_.

So much weight placed in such a small word, such a seemingly small reaction that speaks volumes. They've built a foundation on that word. They've built a relationship. They've fallen in love.

_Love_.

She certainly feels love when he pushes inside her. Certainly feels love as he wipes away the tears that involuntarily slip down her cheeks and she fights through the stinging pain. Certainly feels love as she moans his name and she writhes beneath him and he breathes out her name like a prayer.

She feels it, but doesn't say it, doesn't need to, not when it's so clear in everything they do.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**24.**

Winter doesn't sneak, it attacks with full force. The house proves time and time again to be their personal miracle; from the running water to the basement filled with food.

And the fireplace; large and inviting and _warm_.

She doesn't sing, not yet. Doesn't feel quite like herself and the only songs that come to her are dark and melancholic and not of the uplifting variety that the group so often needs.

Instead, they play the old, familiar game of _I Miss_. It ranges from hamburgers to waxing to slip and slides and as they list items, it starts to get a little ridiculous and a lot silly and it's a moment that Beth files away for later, when the nights are dark and their spirits darker.

"I miss my X-Box," Glenn chuckles, rolling his eyes, "just wasting the day away, talking trash to pre-teens online."

"Robbie had an old game boy," Annie pipes up, "I taught him how to play Pokemon. Rowhan always kept a stash of batteries on hand."

Beth feels her blood go cold and the breath leave her body. Feels the panic rise and the room close in and for a moment, she is back in the whorehouse, back in her prison.

"Annie…"

"I'm sorry," she younger girl looks horrified, "I mean, he was nice to me, I sometimes forget-"

"We don't forget," Beth interrupts, "we _can't_ forget."

Beth's voice is hard and Annie lowers her head. The group watch them curiously and Beth prepares herself for the inevitable.

"Who is Rowhan?"

Carol's voice is soft, cautious, and Beth lets out a shallow breath.

"He owned a whorehouse."

"Oh my god," Maggie breathes, her hand coming to her mouth, "when Daryl said you were taken…"

"We were going to be sold," Beth says quietly, tugging at the frayed edge of her sweater, "but we escaped."

Daryl stands, his footsteps loud, and the door slams behind him.

"Beth, why didn't you tell us?" Maggie asks softly, "Why didn't you tell _me_?"

But she doesn't hear her, not when she's already on her feet, chasing Daryl out of the door.

"I'll kill him," Daryl snaps, crossbow in hand, "just tell me where this place is and I swear to god I'll kill."

"He's dead," Beth states calmly, "I burnt it down and put it behind me."

_Like the moonshine shack_.

Daryl paces, his footsteps heavy, before he throws a punch at the nearest object, that being the metal pole of the swing set.

"Fuck!" He yells, slamming his palm repeatedly against the metal, "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Daryl," Beth places her hand on his arm, but he shakes her off, anger radiating off him. "Daryl, please look at me!"

He does and the look he gives her, full of hopelessness and desperation and guilt, absolutely breaks her heart.

"None of this was your fault," she whispers, her hand coming up to curve around his cheek, "nothing happened."

"But it could have, Beth," he mutters, voice raw with emotion, "when I think about what could have happened-"

She doesn't want him to think. _She _doesn't want to think. So she does the next best thing.

She kisses him.

And it's quick and it's hard and her hands grip his face and she feels his teeth beneath her lips.

But it's perfect because he's kissing her back.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxiv.**

For all intents and purposes, the run is successful. She stays behind at Daryl's insistence – she's learning to pick her battles. They'd gotten better at the intimate parts of their relationship, but it still leaves her with a hint of soreness that lingers the next day. Perhaps it was his intention, and if so, she can't bring herself to be mad.

Can't bring herself to do much of anything, particularly when his face is between her legs and she's moaning his name.

But the run goes smoothly, with enough food to last another few weeks and a good stock of formula for Judith. They're better at this, more cautious and cunning, and while their group is eighteen strong, everyone has a job, everyone has a role. No one is expendable.

It's as harmonious as it can be, with no assigned leader and an underlying mission to escort a man to Washington DC.

So she's surprised when Daryl returns, looking nervous and worried, looking for someone who isn't her.

"Hey," she says quietly, moving to stand beside him, "you okay?"

"Where's your sister?" he mutters gruffly, glancing around.

"Checking the snares with Glenn," Beth replies, worry etched upon her face, "did something happen?"

"Nah," he answers shortly, "gotta talk to Maggie."

And he's off, crossbow slung across his shoulder, heading back towards the gate and leaving her baffled.

It's a few hours before Maggie and Glenn return, a sack of rabbits, but no Daryl in sight.

"Was Daryl with you?" Beth demands. Maggie smirks.

"Well, the snares went fine, thanks for asking. Not too many walkers either."

"Ugh, Maggie," she launches herself at her sister, squeezing her tightly. Glenn chuckles beside her, squeezing her arm affectionately.

"We saw him," he answers, an odd smile on his face, "said he had some errands."

"Errands?" Beth asks incredulously, "What sort of errands?"

"I don't know, Bethy," Maggie smirks, "maybe he had to pick up his dry cleaning or something."

"Ha ha," Beth glares, "fine, don't tell me. I'll find out anyway."

"Yeah?" Maggie laughs.

"Yeah," Beth crosses her arms, "I have my ways, you know."

Glenn frowns and Maggie sputters.

"Definitely _don't_ need to know, okay."

She ignores them though, because Daryl stalks through the gates, gaze down, with every intention of walking right past her.

"Hey!" She calls out, "Where are you going?"

Grunting, he continues on his way, but Beth quickly steps in his path, forcing him to change direction. She keeps blocking him, attempting to slow him down, get him to talk to her.

"What's going on, Daryl? Why are you avoiding me?"

Maggie and Glenn are still in her periphery, this she notes. She feels uncomfortable with them as spectators, witnessing, well, not a fight per se. Not even a disagreement. Just this all too familiar game of cat and mouse that she finds herself in, chasing until one of them folds.

"You ask too many questions, Greene," he snaps and she visibly recoils.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm entitled to, especially when my boyfriend comes back from a run looking like he's seen a ghost, and then immediately leaves to track down my sister!" Beth is frustrated, out of breath, and, most of all, worried.

"Girl, I ain't your boyfriend!" he explodes, grabbing her shoulders, "This ain't high school! I ain't going to take you to prom!"

"Then what are we?" Beth yells, stepping closer into his grasp, eye to eye now, "Help me understand!"

With a growl, he pulls himself away, running his hands through his hair. He grabs her wrist – the scarred one – too tightly, pulling an object from his pocket and pressing it into her palm. It's small and sharp and he walks away, towards the gates, towards the woods, and she doesn't know how long he'll be gone.

She doesn't know much at all, she's realising.

But Beth remembers the object in her hand and slowly opens her palm, only to nearly drop it in shock.

He's given her a ring.

**.**

**.**

* * *

Chapter songs:

"I Can Feel a Hot One" - Manchester Orchestra

"Jewel Eyed Judy" - Fleetwood Mac


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: WOW. I was overwhelmed by the response to chapter 4 and I just want to thank everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed/read this little story. This is the last chapter and most frustrating to write as I'm so fickle about endings. But I'm happy with it, and I hope you will be too.

**.**

**.**

**25.**

It's only northern Georgia, but for all she knew, it could have been the arctic. Her jackets are always too thin and the wind chills her to the bone. Daryl's like human furnace, radiating heat and she finds herself wanting to be near him. Wanting to be surrounded by him.

But wanting is not reality. And she has to face the fact that all he sees now is a broken girl. All he sees is what he can imagine; a house of horrors and her as its prisoner.

Maybe that's why he's so agreeable to expanding on her hunting and tracking lessons; she decides early one morning, traipsing through the woods at sunrise. She's not inept; this she knows. Too many nights in the wilderness, just her and Annie has made her hyper-aware. She feels as though she's on full alert every waking moment of the day and even then, the slightest unfamiliar sound can wake her from her sleep. Or even the familiar - Judith's cries and Annie's whimpers and Maggie's uncertain, cautious footsteps hovering outside her door.

(He never makes a sound, never leaves a trace, save his shadow under her door, casting the room, her mind, into darkness.)

"Did you come by this way?" she asks, breaking the silence. The tracks aren't animal, too uneven and heavy. She guesses walker and grips her bow a little tighter.

"Nah," he mutters, on full alert.

"Left you signs where I could," she says casually, "carvings on trees, scraps of fabric tied around branches. Annie called it a 'trail of breadcrumbs'."

Beth laughs quietly to herself, Daryl watching her curiously. She wants to rub her fingers over her wrist, wants to press into the scar and watch the thin line go white and feel the blood pumping beneath. Wants to feel that she's alive and that this is not a dream.

Because every moment spent with him feels like one.

"Survival tips from children's stories," she murmurs thoughtfully, "maybe that's why they were ingrained into us from birth."

When the trail leads them to the small group of walkers, when she puts them down as easy as he does, when she searches them without hesitation, she feels his eyes watching, wary, _afraid_.

"What are you, Greene?"

She knows what he sees – sharp eyes, certain steps, a mess of tangled, dirty brown hair. She knows, because when she looks in the mirror, she sees the same thing.

A ghost.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxv.**

The ring burns in her palm. She alternates between squeezing it in her hand, the ridges digging into her flesh, to staring at it, almost believing it not to be real.

He isn't back yet. Rick approaches her, cautiously, inquiring about his whereabouts and she can only give him a shaky smile and a _you know, about_. But Rick doesn't press the issue, knows well and good that Daryl can take care of himself, that Daryl will come back. To her, to his family.

Still, it hurts in a way that's unfamiliar. Hurts the same way it did when Shawn got bit, way back at the beginning when she believed, along with her father, that this would pass. That there would be a cure and the world would resume turning.

She takes refuge in the small room that Maggie and Glenn share, not her own. Sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed, staring at a ring that holds a million questions and answers that don't match at all.

"Beth?"

It's Glenn, voice measured and cautious and in the dark, she smiles at him reassuringly.

"Is Maggie about?"

He sighs, visibly relieved that it's a sister thing, not a problem he has to tackle. She doesn't blame him, not when she knows that every time he looks at her, every time they refer to her as his 'little sister' he sees the ghosts of his own flesh and blood and memories that threaten to overwhelm. She knows because he makes her think of Shawn, time and time again.

"Hey," Maggie joins him in the doorway, entering whereas he quietly leaves, closing the door behind him, "you okay?"

Beth holds out her hand.

"You knew about this?"

Maggie takes the ring in her fingers, tracing the smooth band, the elegant inlay of diamonds that sparkle even in the dim. It's not ostentatious. It won't catch, it won't hinder her ability to kill walkers. She knows he chose it for its practicality and she can picture him sifting through hundreds of rings until he found the one that said everything that he needed to say. The one that would keep her safe.

"I knew about its existence," Maggie says quietly, "he asked me today."

"Asked you for what?" Beth presses, hands nervously playing with the edge of her shirt.

"Permission to marry you."

She feels the breath she didn't know she'd been holding leave her lungs, in an audible rush. She doesn't have time to revel in the confirmation of what she'd only _dreamed_, because he's still out there, still hiding from her, still hiding from _himself_.

"You said yes?" Beth looks her sister in the eye.

"I said good luck," Maggie smirks, "and that you hog the covers."

"I do not!" Beth exclaims, grinning, snatching the ring out of her hand.

"You gonna put that on?" Maggie gestures to her hand.

"If he wants to marry me, he can ask me," Beth says quietly, slipping the ring into her pocket, "he can put it on my hand himself."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**26.**

She wakes with a scream that he quickly muffles. Eyes wide, she flails around desperately, before she becomes aware of him, aware of her surroundings.

Annie stirs beside her, but doesn't wake, and for that, Beth is thankful.

"Come on," he murmurs, "got something we need to do."

If she could guess a time, she'd say 3am. It's dark, but so still, the house silent, save for familiar snores and the faint murmuring of those on watch. She rises, pulling on a jumper and a pair of fleece boots she found on a run and follows him downstairs, into the laundry.

"You need me to do your laundry or something?" she sasses, trying to lighten the heavy mood.

"Or something."

Though they have electricity, at night they use it sparingly. Tonight is no different; Daryl's chosen candles as their light source.

"Lean over," he murmurs, gesturing towards the laundry tub.

She gives him a questioning glance.

"I'm washing this shit out of your hair," he says gruffly, "so lean over."

Beth takes in the stack of towels, the anti-dandruff shampoo and box of baking soda. She's trying to do everything in her power not to cry because she hasn't since Judith and certainly doesn't want to in front of him. But she must be failing, when his fingertips reach out and brush the tears away before placing a towel across her shoulders.

The sob catches in her throat the moment the warm water hits her head. His hands are heavy in her hair, rubbing and scraping and massaging the shampoo mixture throughout her matted and greasy strands. He rinses it off and she opens her eyes long enough to see the dirt and brown dye mix together and run down the drain. It's a process he repeats several times until her neck aches and the water runs clear. He uses one of the towels to dry her hair, before leading her out of the laundry and into the shared living room. He sits on the couch and pulls her down with him, so she sitting on an angle and he's running his fingers through her clean, yet tangled hair. He works the knots like he would a snare, with gentle precision, until there's nothing to stop his journey from her scalp to her ends.

She falls asleep like that, pressed against him, his hands warm and heavy in her hair and when she wakes, she wakes sprawled against his chest, arms encircling her firmly, shiny golden blonde hair tickling her cheek.

And she feels whole.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxvi.**

Kicking her legs back and forward, Beth hums quietly to herself, the wind rushing by her as she flies higher on the swing. The ring bumps against her chest, attached to the thin piece of cord that also holds her mother's necklace. They clink together lightly, the only sound to penetrate the dusk.

That and his less that quiet footsteps.

"Been waiting for you," Beth says quietly, bringing the swing to a halt. He looks sheepish, at least, with his crossbow hanging loose in his hand.

"Yeah," he murmurs, not meeting her eyes. She sighs, reaching around her neck to pull off the necklace. Untying the knot, she gently slips the ring off, holding it out to him.

"What is this?" she asks carefully, watching for his reaction.

"A ring," he says blankly. Beth's lips quirk up slightly, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, I can see that. What _is_ this?"

"You know," he mutters gruffly.

And it's the funeral home all over again. It's sitting together in the candlelight, it's _what changed your mind. _It's his eyes telling her everything words can't. It's her silent understanding, it's _oh_.

"Please, Daryl," she pleads, "just tell me."

He takes the ring from her, takes her left hand in his. For a moment, it's almost as if he seems confused at how these items go together, but any hesitation on his part is nonexistent as he slips the ring onto her finger.

"I'm not good at this," he says quietly, "never will be good at this. Don't know how to be good at this. But I love you. And I want you to be mine."

"Oh Daryl," she breathes, taking his face in her hands, "don't you know I'm already yours?"

The ring is a perfect fit. She taps his cheek with the cold metal band and he nuzzles into it.

(Her heart practically _sings_.)

**.**

**.**

**.**

**27.**

In the days that follow, she starts to feel like herself.

It's not instantaneous; Beth knows that she'll never be who she was before. Then again, there are so many versions of past Beth that she struggles to even think of which ones she misses the most. But she feels the most like herself when he's beside her, teaching her how to track, how to shoot, how to field dress game. When he gently pushes her hair from her face when her hands are full or dirty. When he gives her that look, the one that creates a warmth in her stomach and sends shivers down her spine.

People start to notice. Annie starts to notice, and her teasing is not subtle.

_You'll find Beth wherever Daryl is. And vice versa._

She makes a mental note to apologise to Maggie.

Their reactions are not negative. Far from it. Sasha tells her that it's good to see her smiling. Carol tells her that she seems lighter. Everyone tells her that her hair looks nice and slowly her signature ponytail and braid starts to replace her messy, haphazard bun. Annie notes the change with curiosity and Beth smiles, taking to braiding the younger girl's hair during quiet nights around the fire.

Like tonight. When Washington is on everyone's mind and the urgency is creeping in and sooner rather than later winter will be over and they'll have no more excuses to hide behind these walls. It's a tension that sets everyone on edge because this is the safest they've been since the prison, but even this house, with its solar panels and generators, can't sustain them in the long term.

They can't live there for the rest of their lives.

She's not privy to the conversations between Abraham and Rick, knows Daryl is, knows Glenn is. Knows Maggie is, by proxy. Maggie will never tell, but she recognises too well the concern in her eyes and the firm set of her shoulders, carrying her worries like a weight.

So she does what comes naturally. There's no jukebox and all.

_I'll be the church, you be the steeple_

_You be the King, I'll be the people_

_While I was feeling such a mess, I thought you'd leave me behind_

_While I was being such a wreck, I thought you'd treat me unkind_

_But you helped me change my mind_

And she feels her own spirits rising, feels the lyrics flowing through her and it soothes her nerves. Her fingers busy with Annie's hair, she doesn't need to look into anyone's eyes. Doesn't need to see the tears shining in Maggie's or the smile present in Glenn's. All she needs to see, all she needs to know, is Daryl, standing in the doorway, focusing intently on _her_.

Yeah, her.

She struggles to believe it sometimes too.

But it's Annie, with all her wisdom of youth, convincing her in their shared room of his devotion, of his affection. _Love_, she sighs, and Beth is quick to roll her eyes, to shut that down, because Daryl Dixon does not love her.

When he looks at her though…

Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe there's _something_. Maybe it _is_ love and they just haven't noticed it yet.

_You be the bird, I'll be the feather._

_We'll be the best of friends forever._

_While I was feeling such a mess I thought you'd leave me behind._

_When I was feeling such a wreck, I thought you'd treat me unkind._

_Then I found-_

_Forever! And Always!_

_You've got my love to lean on darling_

_All the days_

_Forever_

_Come with me_

_You've got my love to lean on darling_

_All the days_

Beth thinks, looking at her family, looking at their smiling faces, that maybe this feeling of hope can get them through the many miles to Washington.

Scratch that, she _knows_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxvii.**

Beth resists the urge to scrawl _Mrs Daryl Dixon_ all over her journal. Even though it's true.

It's still hard to wrap her head around, being a _wife_. It's not something she thought she'd be, in this new world, but curled around him, her head on his bare chest, he makes anything seem possible.

Truth is though, enjoys being _Mrs Dixon_, enjoys having someone to call her own. Someone to fall into bed with at the end of the day and someone to wake up with in the morning. When she writes about him, it feels surreal, like it's someone else's life. But this is hers, all hers. Forever, as long as that might be.

But she constantly glances at her ring, making sure that it's real, that they're real. And sure, her family sometimes catches her out, and Maggie never lets her live it down. She's in love, she reasons. She's in love and she doesn't care.

"It's not gonna disappear, you know."

Lying in their bed, hand stretched in the air, she rolls over to her stomach, her legs dangling in the air.

"Just checking," she smiles brightly, her hair loose around her shoulders. She's traded the nightgown for sleeping shorts and his shirt, much to his grumbling at the theft of his clothes. _What's yours is mine_, she sang once, and he merely smirked and declared that it looked better on her anyway. And that made her heart swell exponentially.

"Long day?" she frowns, watching as he rolls his shoulders. Silly question - every day is a long day. But he looks more tense than usual. "Sit down."

She pushes herself on her knees, kneeling behind him. Slowly, but firmly, she begins to work the muscles of his shoulders, breaking down the knots and the tension. He groans some, when she works loose a particular tight knot and moans when her lips press against his neck.

"Never had no massage that involved kissing," he teases as she nibbles gently at the skin there. She giggles against his neck.

"Well, this is a Beth Dixon special," she grins, her hands and lips working simultaneously.

"Beth Dixon," he murmurs, "sounds real when you say it."

"Always been real," she whispers, "never needed no name to make it so."

He leans into her touch as she soothes away his worries and god knows that in this messed up world, this just feels so right.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**28.**

A soft popping noise wakes her from her sleep.

It's rare for her to oversleep, but Judith was fussing the night before, refusing to go down. She's quiet, but stubborn, well into her second year and starting to live up to all that embodies the 'terrible twos'. But it's rewarding in itself, her part in raising this little girl, such as when she wakes with the toddler leaning over her, small chubby hands pressed gently against her cheeks.

"_Bef._"

She breaks into a sleepy smile, hands coming up to embrace the little girl, making her erupt into a squeal of laughter.

The popping sound continues.

Watching the toddler from the corner of her eye, Beth shucks on a sweater and a pair of jeans, tugging on her boots before settling Judith on her hip. Making her way outside, she's surprised to see Annie and Carl lined up facing two make-shift targets, Daryl and Rick standing behind them, respectively, and the others watching from the sidelines.

Carol takes Judith from her, smiling at the two girls.

"It's an old fashioned shoot off."

Beth chuckles, rolling her eyes. Of course. Strolling past the small crowd, she makes her way beside Daryl, who has taken up the mantle of Annie's coach. Whereas Rick is vocal, shouting his encouragement, Daryl stands back silently, gnawing on his thumb, throwing out soft spoken advice.

"What's the score?"

"Tied," Daryl murmurs, "best out of five, two shots left."

"Three for three?" she asks, pulling her hair into a ponytail, holding it above her head while she fumbles around her wrist for her hair tie. His eyes linger on the curve of her neck, glazing over.

"Two a piece. Oakley here's a pretty damn good shot."

"Oakley, huh?" Beth grins, amused by the little nickname. Turning her head, Annie grins and Daryl gruffly tells her to pay attention.

"It's cute."

"Shut it, Greene."

His tone is teasing though, and she nudges him lightly. Carl lines up his shot and pulls the trigger, hitting the mark, Rick clapping him on the back.

"What's the wager?" Beth asks, curiously. Daryl shoots her a look. "Gotta be something in it for you if you care this much."

"Not for him, for me." Annie moves towards them, looking sheepish. "If I win, I get Carl's hat. If he wins, I have to kiss him."

Beth laughs, really laughs, shoulders shaking and everything.

"Seriously? That's the bet? Not, like, food or something?"

"Nah," Annie shrugs sheepishly, "I just really like his hat and Carl just really likes me."

"And your involvement, Dixon?"

"Just trying to help her defend her honour," he grumbles and Beth giggles.

"So chivalrous."

"Yeah, you know me."

"Quit stalling," Rick yells out, "take the shot."

Stepping back in front of the target, Annie takes aim, exhaling and pulling the trigger.

Hitting the mark.

Beth cheers loudly and Annie gives a little curtsey. Behind them, their family isn't choosing sides, per se, rather cheering for each of them in turn.

"Not over yet," Rick calls out to them, grinning, no malice behind his words. Shucking her arm over Annie's shoulder, the trio watch as Carl, with his father's encouragement, shoots his final shot and hits the target. The group erupt in applause and cheers and Annie glances up at her nervously.

"Hey," Beth says softly, "win or lose, everyone knows you're capable, okay?"

"Yeah, I know," Annie sighs, "I just didn't want to kiss Carl."

Beth chuckles at the younger girl's petulance.

"Shouldn't have made that bet, then," Daryl interrupts, scowling, "come on, Oakley, show these people what you're made of."

Forcing a smile, Annie nods briskly, marching towards the target. Standing back with the others, Beth grabs Daryl's hand, fingers entwining as she squeezes it nervously. His eyes glance down momentarily, but he remains focused on the scene unfolding before them. The girl, her stance strong, her breathing even, her straight arms. It's so silent, they can hear the leaves rustling in the trees.

Annie pulls the trigger.

And misses. But only just.

A miss is a miss though, as Carl whoops and Rick embraces his son. Everyone is full of congratulations and commiserations, but Beth is right, it's hardly a loss for Annie, with everyone looking at her with a newfound respect for her marksmanship and calm under pressure.

"I think my boy is waiting for something from the lady," Rick smirks. Beside him, Carl at least looks a bit bashful, maybe even a bit like he might want to rescind on the wager.

"Doesn't look like they want to," Beth tries to be diplomatic, glancing at the nervousness evident in both their young faces. It's clear that when they made the bet, Annie didn't think she'd lose and Carl didn't think there'd be this many spectators.

"These good people came to see a kiss," Rick shrugs, gesturing towards their family, who all start clapping and cheering. Beth might have found herself frustrated, were it not for the smiles on everyone's faces, how happy they looked, how at ease. For a moment, they weren't thinking of Washington. For a moment, they were just watching a couple kids takes part in a game as old as the wilderness around them.

"Just a kiss?" Beth questions uncertainly, "So, hypothetically, any kiss would do?"

"Beth?" Annie queries shyly, "what..."

Maybe it's her martyr complex when it comes to the young girl, her willingness to throw herself in front of any kind of fire to protect her (be it her safety or dignity). Maybe it's the way he gave her a nickname, how it amused her and sent her heart a-fluttering.

Hell, maybe it's because she just _wanted to_.

But she grabs Daryl by the vest, in front of everyone, and presses her lips to his, holding him tight while her family hollers and cheers around them. And even when her hand went slack, he didn't pull away.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxviii.**

Going over lists, checking off items, she juggles Judith on one arm and a notepad in the other as she searches the property for Carol. It's a long journey to DC, when you travel the highways via major cities. For them, forever off the beaten track, it'll likely be three times that.

Maybe more, if they run into trouble.

Trouble these days spans beyond just a herd of walkers. Trouble takes a very human, very living form and they know that what they have (guns, food, women) is something that people will kill for. The thought makes her cradle Judith closer, curl herself tighter around Daryl.

But the way he holds her, sometimes she thinks she's not the only one with that fear.

She passes Annie and Tyreese practicing hand to hand combat, gives Rick, who is pouring over maps with Abraham, a quick wave. Spots her husband over the way, tinkering with the motorbike they found just for him, and it takes all her resolve not to change her course, to seek him out instead.

Resolve, her lips curl into a smirk, she doesn't really have.

"No you don't!"

Maggie grips her by the elbow, dragging her back towards her intended target. Beth pouts.

"Mag_gie_."

"Don't use that tone on me," her sister chastises, scowling playfully, "or those doe eyes."

Beth's eyes immediately narrow.

"What, so I can't have any fun?"

"Not when there's work to do," Maggie says firmly, "that's the rule, kiddo. Work, _then_ play."

Beth rolls her eyes, sighing heavily. Rather than scold, her sister grins, wrapping her arm around her shoulder.

"Never thought I'd get to experience this, Bethy," she chirps, pulling her close, "Both of us, married. Daddy would be proud."

"Yeah?" Beth's eyes light up, a smile gracing her features, "you think Daddy would approve?"

"He would be over the moon," Maggie chuckles, "just knowing that you are safe and loved. It's all he ever wanted. It's all _I _wanted."

"Maggie…"

"I'm sorry I didn't look for you," she says sombrely, "I know you saw the signs and I'm sorry, I thought…I thought it would be easier not to hope. I'm not strong like you, Beth. Not in the ways that truly count."

"It doesn't matter," Beth whispers, "this life, it's too short to be wasted on holding grudges. We have to treasure every moment we have."

"You're right," Maggie smiles, letting go of her sister and pushing her, not in the direction of Carol, but of Daryl and his bike. Beth gives her a confused look.

"Go," she smirks, "enjoy the sun and safety of the walls with your _husband_. You may be a Dixon, but you'll always be a Greene girl. And us Greene girls get what we want, you know."

"Yeah," Beth giggles, "yeah I know."

**.**

**.**

**.**

**29. **

Annie groans.

"No more banjo, please…"

Giggling, then hiccupping, Maggie deposits the girl onto her bed, Beth rubbing her shoulder.

"I can't believe you, Maggie!" she hisses, "She's fourteen!"

"So?" Maggie rolls her eyes, "She can kill walkers but she can't have a single drink?"

"She had more a 'single' drink!" Beth scowls, "I leave you alone for an hour. _An hour_!"

"So you could go into the woods and make out with Daryl, " Maggie wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, "you're welcome by the way and I expect _all_ the details later. When I'm sober."

"Nope," Beth sing-songs, "as punishment for getting a _fourteen_ year old drunk, I'm not going to tell you _anything_. Especially not what Daryl Dixon does with his tongue."

"What!" Maggie screeches, no doubt waking those that were already sleeping, "You can't do that to me!"

"I can and I will," Beth retorts, "between you pestering me for all the sordid details and Annie's constant teasing, it's a miracle _anything's_ happened."

Maggie chuckles.

"Funny how the world went to shit and you ended up with not one, but_ two_ annoying sisters," she teases, "at least you know now a little how I felt."

"Yeah," Beth rolls her eyes, "sorry-not sorry."

Collapsing on Beth's bed, Maggie shifts to the side, allowing Beth space to lie down. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, the sisters listen to the creaking of the old house and the shuffling of those finishing their night time routines.

"That man would do anything for you, you know," Maggie states quietly, grabbing her sister's hand, "_has_ done anything. He flat out _refused_ to leave the state without you. Would have burnt down the whole woods to find you, if it came to that."

Beth blushes into the dark, and it's like Maggie can sense her embarrassment, squeezing her hand reassuringly, edging just that little bit closer.

"He's helping that girl, because of you."

"He'd help her regardless," Beth interjects.

"Probably," Maggie shrugs, "but we both know she's the exception, not the rule."

Beth sighs, turning her head to stare at the young girl sleeping peacefully. Some days she feels more like a mother than an older sister, offering counsel and a shoulder to cry on. Some days she feels twice her age, raising both a baby and a teenage girl and her heart aches with all the ways she could possibly fail them, has already failed them, even in small, insignificant ways that still keep her up at night. Some days she thinks that her greatest weapon in this world filled with evil is not her knife or her bow, but her _heart_. Some days she feels as if that will never be enough.

Some days she feels as if it _is_.

"He loves you, you know," Maggie whispers, "I've never seen a man love a woman as much as he loves you."

"Yeah," Beth swallows thickly, "I think I love him too."

And god, does her heart feel _full_.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxix.**

It's their last night in their safe haven and all she wants to do is see the _stars_.

Beth knows this is ridiculous, knows that the weeks ahead will be filled with nothing but. It won't be the same, she reasons, with both herself and her confused husband. It will be Maggie and Glenn a few feet away, it'll be Judith, sweet Judith, in her care. It will be the ever-present fear and threat and him on edge even more because of her, always her.

So all she wants to do is lie on the grass with her husband and gaze at the stars.

"You know any constellations?" she asks yawning, knowing she should sleep but wanting to enjoy the time they have left.

"That's the big dipper," he points out gruffly, "and there's Orion."

"Amazing," she breathes, snuggling further into his shoulder, "I'm going to miss this, Daryl."

"The stars?" he asks, confused.

"No," Beth replies, "us. The quiet. Being alone."

"We'll find time," he murmurs shyly, and she smiles.

"Won't be the same. We'll have to tell everyone where we're going and they're gonna give us that _look_."

"Look?"

"You know," Beth giggles, "that _look_, like when we go off into the woods to…_do_ things."

He rolls over, caging her with his arms, body hovering just above her, nuzzling into her neck.

"Tell me," he breathes, "what is it we do? What do I do to _you_?"

Oh god. She feels him then, hard against her thigh and her breath comes out shaky. His lips trail down the column of her throat, nibbling and sucking and she feels herself begin to unravel.

"You, ah…you _love_ me," she blushes, feeling herself squirm, "with your lips and your tongue and your fingers and your-_oh_…"

She loses her train of thought when said fingers flick open the top button of her jeans, pushing them down, slipping under the hem of her underwear to dip beneath her curls.

"If I want to fuck my wife in the woods," Daryl growls, his fingers inching higher, rubbing against the small nerve bundle, making her twitch and jolt, "I'm gonna fuck my wife in the woods. No amount of _looks_ we get is going to stop me."

"Oh god," she whines, and he adds another digit, but not before kissing her deeply, stealing the cry from her lips.

"Not god," he whispers, his fingers alternating between torturously slow to frenzied. She can't breath. "God could never make you feel this way. Only your husband. Only_ me_. Say my name."

Beth moans.

"You're _mine_," he hisses, biting her earlobe, "say it!"

"I'm yours," she whimpers, feeling the build, feeling her body on the precipice, yearning for a release that only he can give, "oh Daryl, I'm yours!"

With that, she explodes, her head spinning from pure euphoria, from the power he has over her body and her heart. She looks to the stars to bring her back down to earth, but all she can see is a supernova.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**30.**

"You wanna ride with me?"

Glancing up from her pack, she looks to him, eyes widening slightly.

"On your bike?"

"No, on Nelly," he snarks, "what do you think, girl?"

Rolling her eyes, she straightens, crossing her arms.

"You were almost chivalrous there for a minute, Mister Dixon, then you had to ruin it with your sass."

"Yeah, I'm a regular Prince Charming," he smirks, "and you're the one with sass mouth."

"Learnt from the best," she grins, gesturing towards Maggie.

"Yep, and now you're corrupting the youth of America," he complains, "Annie Oakley called me 'sir' just this morning. Didn't even bat an eye. Who knows what bad habits Lil' Ass Kicker is gonna pick up."

"If I had to guess," Beth tries to keep a straight face, but she can feel the cracks forming, "probably arson."

"You're hysterical," Daryl grumbles.

"You love me," Beth throws back and as soon as the words leave her mouth, she wishes she could take them back. It's all fun and games, this flirtatious banter, but the second some very real, and very serious words come into play, it starts to get dangerous.

It starts to edge into the territory of truth.

"I mean, I, uh…" she stutters, blushing, face growing hot.

"I do," Daryl interrupts, "I love ya, Beth. Ain't gonna lie about it or pretend otherwise."

This is everything she dreamed. This is everything she wished for in the whorehouse. This is the funeral home, in the candlelight, serious piggybacks, hands entwined.

This is perfect.

"I love you too," she whispers, "but I can't ride with you. I need to keep Annie and Judith safe. I can't leave them behind."

He understands, she knows he does. Knows because he's trying to do the same thing – keep her close, keep her safe. But she needs his protection less than those girls need hers and her place is not behind him, face pressed against his wings. Her place is in the backseat of a car with an toddler in her lap and a young teen falling asleep on her shoulder.

How she has changed. How she looks in the mirror and marvels at what she has become, what she is capable of. What she has done and will do.

"We all got jobs to do, huh?" he echoes her sentiments, reaching out, fingers brushing the sleeve of her jacket. Smiling, she pushes forward into his embrace, hooking her fingers into the loops of his jeans. Standing on her toes, she presses a chaste kiss to his lips, knowing that their family is probably watching them carefully.

"I want to," she breathes, "but I can't."

"I'll always want to protect you," he says quietly, "I'll always want to keep you close."

Pressing her forehead to his, she sighs.

"I'm not gonna leave you again," she murmurs, feeling his eyelashes flutter against her skin, "I swear."

His lips meet her, soft yet chapped and it's different from the woods, different from every stolen moment and every public one. It's a promise, it's a prayer, it's their past, present, and future. It's the moonshine shack and the funeral home and him killing himself to find her and her bleeding anger and rage to return to him. It's a puzzle complete.

It's a perfect fit.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**xxx.**

She giggles. Honest to goodness _giggles_.

"Shush," he grumbles, "gotta be quiet, girl."

"I'm ticklish," she grins, "you of all people should know this."

His fingers, tracing their way down her back to her hip, under her sweater. Her boots scratch against the rough nylon flooring and he stills her with his leg pinning down hers.

"Hmm," he hums, "I should, shouldn't I?"

Still, his fingers reach her waist, digging in just so, causing her to twitch and squirm.

"I like this," she breathes, "I like these moments with you."

It's not easy on the road, not for their family. There are too many walkers and other groups to avoid. There are close calls and Daryl's panicked cries when she throws herself into the fray.

(_It's not my blood_, she had to reassure him, over and over while her checks her for cuts and scratches. _Baby, I'm okay, _and god, he breaks her heart when he's like that, eyes wild, hands anxious, lip chewed to the point where it's bleeding.)

"I like them too," he grunts, and she imagines his face growing red in the dim from his confession.

"I love you," she breathes, "I love you in the best way possible."

He answers by entwining his hands with hers, the metal of her ring pressing into his skin He answers by wrapping her even tighter in his embrace, so she can hear his heartbeat and he can feel hers and she _knows_ that they're beating as one.

Never doubts, never questions. Accepts blindly that love is flawed and love is frightening, but it's also exciting and wonderful. And she'll never love anyone as much as she loves this beautiful, damaged, selfless man. Who lifts her up and makes her whole and makes her _brave_. Who is every bit a part of her as she is of him.

It's two halves of a whole, personified.

It's a perfect fit.

**.**

**.**

* * *

Chapter songs:

'That's What's Up' - Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

'No Rest' - Dry the River


End file.
